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THE PANSY

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=Literary Notes.=

LAWRENCE SEVERN, an English writer, is bringing out a novel entitled
_Heaven's Gate: A Story of the Forest of Dean_, of which the scenes
are laid in and about Chepstow Castle and Tintern Abbey. The critics
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THE proper place of the accent in the word "arbutus" has excited much
discussion. A rare instance of its proper accentuation in poetry may be
found in "The Gift of Spring," a graceful bit of verse by Charles Miner
Thompson, which appears in _March_ which D. Lothrop & Co. publish.


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    _Volume 13, Number 22._      Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                       _April 3, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: "I WENT A-FISHING, ALL BY MYSELF."]


SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING.

    THE WORD WAS MADE FLESH AND DWELT AMONG US.

    THE TWO DISCIPLES HEARD HIM SPEAK, AND THEY FOLLOWED
    JESUS.

    THIS BEGINNING OF MIRACLES DID JESUS IN CANA OF
    GALILEE, AND MANIFESTED FORTH HIS GLORY; AND HIS
    DISCIPLES BELIEVED ON HIM.

    YE MUST BE BORN AGAIN.

GRANDMA BURTON'S face was very grave and sweet. "Yes," she said,
"I remember that third verse about as well as anything that I ever
learned; and it is queer how the second one fits in with it. That
finishes the story; and I have had to wait more than sixty years to
think of it."

Marion and Ralph exchanged happy smiles.

"Then we two will have the story, Grandma," said Marion, "those are
Ralph's and mine. But I don't see how they fit."

"I do, child, they fit perfectly. It was the summer I was eleven years
old; we were boarding in the country; I remember everything about
that summer, because I had some of the nicest times, and some of the
narrowest escapes of my life.

"One day I went a-fishing, all by myself; I wasn't what you might call
a venturesome child, so I was trusted in many places where careless
children could not have been." Grandma did not even glance Ralph's way
while she spoke; so of course she could have meant no hint to him! "I
had some sandwiches in my bag left of the lunch we had taken the day
before. I forgot to empty the bag; so when I was half-way down the
hill from our house I found them in the way. It was a neat little bag,
lined with oilcloth; I could carry all sorts of things in it, then
turn it inside out, and wash it, and it would come out as good as new.
So I meant to fill the bag with little fishes, and here were these
sandwiches in the way! Just as I turned the corner by Mr. Willard's
place, I heard a low growl, and there stood Bose eying me in a way to
make my heart beat fast. I was dreadfully afraid of Bose, and with
good reason; he had the name of being a very fierce dog; they kept him
chained all day. I saw the chain around his neck, then, but still I
was afraid. I was hurrying by, when it occurred to me that here was a
good chance for getting rid of my sandwiches; if I could only muster
up courage to give them to Bose! I turned back, and going as near to
the fence as I could, threw with all my strength, and landed a piece of
bread and meat at his feet. He gave a low growl and eyed me so fiercely
that all the blood in my body seemed to go to my head; but he smelled
around the meat for a minute, then took it in at one mouthful, and I
tried again, and again, until my bag was empty. He did not growl at me
any more, but I thought he looked crosser than any dog ought to, who
had been so kindly treated.

"Presently, however, I forgot all about him; some people would be
surprised over what I was thinking; they imagine that little girls
never think about sober things. But it was that very verse which was
in my mind: 'This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee,
and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him.'
Papa had read it at family worship that morning, and he and mamma and
brother Mott had talked a little about it, and set me to thinking. It
didn't seem at all strange to me that his disciples believed on him;
I thought if _I_ could have a miracle worked for me, I would find it
easy, after that, to believe anything. I remember exactly how I felt
as I sat on the bank with my feet hanging over, and held in my hand a
little fish about five inches long; I was sorry for him and meant to
throw him back into the water, after I had examined him; I thought he
was too little to be caught; as I sat holding him, I thought, 'If this
fish should turn into a beautiful little bird, just now, and speak to
me, then I would know that God had done it, and I could believe in
him, without any trouble. I don't see why he doesn't do such things
now; it wouldn't be any stranger than making wine out of water; and if
it helped people then, why shouldn't it now?' So I sat holding that
poor wriggling fish, and wishing he would turn into a miracle before
my eyes; but he didn't, and presently I threw him back with a sigh,
and wound up my fish line, and went around to the other side of the
lake, still so busy with my thoughts that I could not seem to settle to
anything. I don't know to this day, how I came to do the next thing. I
suppose I must have gone a great deal nearer the edge than I thought I
was, and they said it was wet and slippery there; anyway, I slipped
and fell, and trying to regain my balance I stepped on my dress, and
fell again, and rolled over into the lake in less time than it takes me
to tell it.

"I don't wonder you shiver," said Grandma after a moment's pause,
drawing Marion closer to her. "It was a skittish place; the lake was
pretty deep in that part, and the banks were high and slippery. It
was not a time of day when people were bathing, and there was nobody
in sight. I lost all knowledge of what was going on after I sank the
second time. When they found me, where do you think I was? Dragged high
and dry from the lake, around to where the ocean began, and that great
Bose stood beside me keeping guard and looking about him right and left
for help! He kept up such a fierce barking that the boatmaster heard
him at last, and came to see what was the matter.

"The very first sentence that I fully understood, of all the talk
around me, was Mr. Willard saying in a low tone: 'I declare, this seems
to me just like a miracle! I never knew Bose to break his chain before;
and I did not know he would spring into the water for anybody; in fact,
I should have been afraid to send him, for fear he would bite the
child.'

"You can't imagine what a thrill it gave me! 'A miracle!' I said to
myself; 'then He heard me wishing for one, and promising I would
believe him fully, if He would only perform a miracle for me; and He
did it! It seemed just like that to me then; and I'm not so sure but it
seems so yet. If the dear Lord was a mind to humor your silly Grandma's
unbelief and send her a sign to strengthen her, why couldn't he do it?
Anyhow, nobody knows to this day, how Bose got loose from his chain. It
was found to be not broken, only slipped in some way--and no one knows
who told him to bound down to the lake and spring into the water just
in time to save me. He wasn't what is commonly called a water dog; and
he was very fierce to children generally. Some folks think such things
just happen; but I've lived a great many years, and the longer I live
the surer I am that there isn't much 'happening' of any kind about
our lives. There wasn't any need for me having a miracle, children;
the Lord had done enough for me long before, but he is sometimes real
patient with silly people. I know I began that very day to try to
serve him, and I've always been glad I did."

The listeners were very quiet for some minutes, then Ralph spoke: "I
don't see my verse fitting in anywhere, Grandma?"

"But it did," said Grandma, nodding her head. "I was sick all that
summer. The shock, they said, was too much for me; I couldn't walk a
step for a long time. I used to sit in a big chair out of doors, with
Bose by my side; he was the greatest friend I had. No more growls for
me; and he wouldn't growl at anybody I told him not to.

"One day Rob Carleton and his sister stopped at the gate to visit with
me; they were from the same city where we lived; but I didn't know them
much at home. Rob began to tell me how queer he thought it was that
that dog should have come after me, when he had always before acted as
though he hated children; and something whispered to me to tell him
about my little miracle. I didn't quite want to. I was afraid he might
laugh at me; but at last I mustered up courage, and told him the whole
story. He didn't laugh at all; but he didn't say much of anything, and
by and by went away. They left the shore the next day; and I did not
see that boy again for five years; and then, don't you think he told me
that ever since I told him about my miracle, he couldn't get away from
the thought of such things, and at last it led him to decide to belong
to Jesus, and he led his little sister May in the same direction!
Why, you children have often heard me speak of Doctor Carleton, the
missionary in India? He's the very same! And May is a minister's wife
in Kansas. Don't you see your verse, Ralph? 'The two disciples heard
Him speak, and they followed Jesus.' Rob and May weren't _disciples_
yet, but the dear Lord knew they were going to be; and he let me tell
about my little miracle, and used it to help them decide to follow him."

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

One day when Susie was visiting her great-aunt, she found in one
of her old books an excellent rule. It was this: "Aim to make
courtesies not an article of dress to put off and on, but a part of
ourselves--something that is always with us."


BOB'S FIRST PRAYER.

ONE summer they carried May Vinton to a quiet place by the sea. From
the windows of her room she could watch the unceasing roll of the
waves, she could mark the incoming and outgoing tide; she grew to love
the sea and did not seem to miss the coming and going of friends which
she enjoyed so much in her own home. But she missed opportunities for
helping others. At least she did at first, but she was not long in
finding some one who needed her. It was the boy from the fisherman's
little cottage whose acquaintance she first made. He came every morning
with fish for her breakfast, and May, calling to him as he passed her
window with his basket, soon found out that he lived in the little
low-roofed building which she could just see quite a long way down
the shore; and she found out that there were several children in the
family and that the father went out every day in a boat after fish.
She gathered that while they were not suffering for food and clothes,
they were still quite poor, and that the children had never been to
school and were very ignorant of the knowledge gained from books. The
boy could tell her all about the fishing business, about the ways of
the old ocean, he knew where to look for the prettiest shells and the
finest seaweed. He could tell what the winds and the shifting clouds
portended as to the weather, but not a letter of the alphabet did he
know.

[Illustration: SHE COULD WATCH THE WAVES FROM HER WINDOW.]

"Would you like to learn to read?" asked May.

The little fellow was not sure, but he did want to hear a story, and
so she began that way, interesting the boy in a story. He soon became
a regular visitor. Leaning upon the window-sill he would listen to his
new friend as she talked, telling him of things outside the little
world which he knew. At length she said, "To-morrow will be Sunday;
suppose you bring your sister and brother for a little while in the
afternoon and we will have a little Sunday-school."

"Sunday-school! What's that?"

"Come and see."

"Can I bring Tommy Britt?"

"You may bring four besides yourself."

And so Miss Vinton began a little Sunday-school down there by the sea
with five scholars. You who have so often heard the sweet old story of
a Saviour's love cannot imagine what it was to these ignorant children
to hear it for the first time. You to whom the words of the prayer
which Christ taught us have been familiar from your babyhood, cannot
know how strange were the thoughts and words of that prayer, nor what a
hold upon their imaginations the idea of asking anything of an unseen
being took.

The summer months passed away. Miss Vinton took leave of her little
class and went back to her own home. She said sadly, "They are so
ignorant! It was so little that I could do for them; and I am afraid
they will forget it all."

[Illustration: THE WIFE AND CHILDREN BEGAN TO BE ANXIOUS.]

Did they forget? One November morning the fisherman went out in his
boat as usual; later in the day the clouds gathered as for a storm,
and the wife and children began to be anxious. As the afternoon hours
waned the sky grew darker, and the wind howled about the little
cottage. It was already past the hour when the father might have been
expected, and poor Mrs. Byrnes soothed the fretful baby and turned her
eyes anxiously towards the window which looked seaward. The children
peered out into the gathering darkness, but no sail was in sight;
indeed it soon became so dark that they could not see far from the
house. Little Nell placed a lamp in the window and Bob replenished the
fire. Then he slipped away. A bit of the conversation which the younger
ones had carried on as they stood gazing out over the waters, had given
him an idea.

"Don't you know," said Nell, "how Miss Vinton said 'the sea is His and
He made it?'"

"Yes; and you know she told us the pretty story of how the people were
afraid and Jesus said to the waves, 'be still.' I liked that story!"
said the little brother.

"I wish He would say so to the waves now," returned Nell.

"Maybe He would if he were here," was the reply. "Maybe He would. I
wish he was here."

Bob hearing this remembered more of the teachings of the young lady of
whom they had all been so fond, and as soon as he could, he slipped
away and went up into the loft where the children slept. There in the
darkness and chill he knelt down and asked Jesus to make the winds and
waves "be still." Repeating this, his first prayer, again and again, he
at length arose with a calm in his heart. Going down stairs his mother
said: "Seems to me the wind does not blow quite so hard."

Bob smiled and whispered, "I shouldn't wonder if He heard! I didn't
know as he would hear _me_, but Miss Vinton said He would."

He piled on more fuel, saying aloud, "Father will be here soon, and we
must have it warm and have supper ready. Mother, don't you think we
ought to set the table?"

"O yes, I suppose so. But I thought if your father never comes home, we
would not want any supper," said the poor woman, in a despairing tone.

"I know; but don't you think the wind has gone down considerably?"

It seemed ages to the waiting group, but it was not more than an hour
when the voice of the fisherman was heard, and Bob throwing open the
door welcomed the father.

"I tell you," said the dripping man, "I began to think I should never
see the shore again! The storm was awful, but about an hour ago, it
began to let up a little. The clouds broke away too, and then I saw
Nell's light there, and I tell you we just steered for that!"

"About an hour ago," repeated Bob to himself. "That was when I was up
there asking Jesus to say 'be still.' I guess he did hear!"

                                         FAYE HUNTINGTON.


AN EASTER STORY.

"THERE comes Prinkie!" and the girls in Miss Winthrop's class made
room for the new-comer. This was a rosy-cheeked girl with sparkling
black eyes and, what the girls noticed particularly, a new hat. Prinkie
Brown, as they called her, reveled in new hats. She had a new one for
Thanksgiving, another for Christmas, one when her mother came from
New York, and now at Easter she was out in still another! Old Mrs.
Brown was wont to say: "Prinkie is chock full of vanity and ought not
to be indulged in her love of fine clothes;" but Mr. Brown was a rich
man, and seldom refused to gratify any desire or whim of either wife
or daughter, and so Prinkie had new hats and dresses to her heart's
content. No, I am mistaken.

When did new hats or new dresses ever give any one a contented heart?
True, to look into the young girl's face you might think she was very
happy; but her happiness was short-lived. A whisper reached her ears.

"Did you ever see such a vain girl?" said Ella Clark to the girl next
to her.

"No; Prinkie grows more like a peacock every day. I don't believe she
ever thinks of anything beyond new clothes."

"Now you watch her. When Miss Winthrop asks her a question she simpers
and looks down at her gloves and smooths her laces as if she thought
those things were the most important."

"I suppose she does think _just that_!"

Now Prinkie did not hear all of this, but she caught enough of it to
understand the drift of the talk, and she was angry and mortified.
"Like a peacock," indeed! Was a girl to be called names because she had
a new hat? When would one wear new clothes if not on Easter Sunday?
Was not the church and Sunday-school room tastefully decorated? It was
real mean of those girls to spoil her enjoyment of her new hat by such
ill-natured remarks. True she had not been quite satisfied. Her gloves
were not an exact match for the hat, and she had pouted a little that
morning over the fact, and grandma had vexed her by saying "Mary"--her
real name is Mary--"Mary, I am afraid that in dressing for the day you
are thinking more of yourself and too little of the meaning of Easter."

Was it true, as they all seemed to think, that she thought of nothing
else than her clothes? What was the superintendent saying: "Let us not
lose sight of the event we celebrate to-day. We would be miserable
indeed were it not for this most glorious truth that our Christ is
not a dead Christ, but a living Saviour. And in our admiration and
enjoyment of these decorations, these floral offerings which you have
brought, in these symbols let us not forget what we symbolize. The
resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord is our theme; let us sing with
joyful voice:

    Hail, all hail, victorious Lord and Saviour,
    Thou hast burst the bonds of death!"

Prinkie sang with the rest, and only Miss Winthrop noticed the troubled
expression which rested upon the young girl's face. Miss Winthrop was
very much troubled about her class; they were girls from twelve to
fifteen years old. Some of them were church members, but nearly all
seemed given over to frivolity. During the winter just passed there
had been some religious interest in other classes in the school, yet
these girls, absorbed in school, children's parties, and dress, had
frittered the time away, and, so far as their teacher could see, had
made little progress in the divine life. She had come before them this
Easter morning with a heavily burdened heart. She had prayed that they
might awaken to a newness of life, that the Easter lessons might sink
into their hearts, that the shackles of sin and frivolity which held
them might be broken, that they might henceforth abound in the fruits
of righteousness. And now as she listened to their chatter and noticed
their enjoyment of their fluttering ribbons, and heard the light tinkle
of their bangles, she sighed over the apparent failure of her hopes
for them. She turned towards them at the beginning of the lesson-hour,
saying:

"Girls, we ought to be very bright and happy this morning, else we
should be very sad. If we have a part in this rejoicing, if it is
_our_ Saviour of whom we sing 'The Lord is risen indeed' then we have
a right to be glad. If He who is risen is one whom we have rejected,
then we have no call to rejoice; why should we care? Some of us have
professed to be his friends, and the nearer we have been living to him,
the more faithful to our vows we have been, the more precious He is to
our hearts, the more we may rejoice in the truth of the resurrection.
Whether we have hitherto been living for Christ or not, this is a good
time to begin anew. 'Like as Christ was raised up from the dead, even
so we also should walk in newness of life.' Let us put away old things
that have been hindering us and serve in newness of spirit. Let this be
a real true Easter to every one of us." There was more of that earnest
talk and it seemed to sink into the hearts of those who heard it. I can
only tell you how one acted upon the lessons of the day. The hardest
lesson had been the whispered words which she overheard; but the tender
pleading of Miss Winthrop had softened her and she walked homeward
alone, having turned away from the fluttering group. She was thinking:

"The girls call me vain--and say I am like a peacock, and Miss Winthrop
is sad over me, and all for the same reason. I don't like to have the
girls talk about me, and I don't like to have Miss Winthrop sad; I
wonder if I am such a giddy girl! I suppose it is true; I do think too
much of dress. I suppose I might look nice without thinking so much
about it and without showing that I do. Miss Winthrop talked about
newness of life--I wish I could be made over all new. Then I wouldn't
be Mary Brown. Yes, I might; I am _Prinkie_ Brown now. I won't be
called Prinkie any more. I'll be Mary, and I will live for something
better than dress."

"Prinkie," called Mrs. Brown as the young girl came down stairs after
putting away the new hat which had become less precious.

"Mamma, please do not call me that any more. And will you please not
let any one else call me so? I hate the name and I am going to be Mary
Brown after this."

Mary could not tell her mother that she had resolved to "walk in
newness of life," for Mrs. Brown was not a religious woman, and the
child felt that she would not understand her. But to her grandmother
she said as she lingered in her room at evening:

"Grandmamma, this has been a true Easter to me!"

This was a year ago, and Mary Brown still wears new hats, from time
to time, and still dresses as seems to befit the daughter of a man of
wealth, but no one calls her "Prinkie." No one would think of comparing
her to a peacock; for she walks in newness of life; every Sabbath is to
her a glad Easter.

                                           FAYE HUNTINGTON.

[Illustration: PRINKIE BROWN.]




    _Volume 13, Number 23._      Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & Co.
                         _April 10, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: THEY GATHERED ABOUT THE PLATFORM TO LISTEN.]


REACHING OUT.

(_A further Account of Nettie Decker and her Friends._)

BY PANSY.


CHAPTER VI.

THE little old grandmothers with their queer caps were perhaps the
feature of the evening. Everybody wanted a bouquet of them. In fact,
long before eight o'clock, Jerry had been hurried away for a fresh
supply, and Nettie had been established behind a curtain, in haste, to
"make more grandmothers." In her excitement she made them even prettier
than before; and sweet, grave little Sate had no trouble in selling
every one. The pretty Roman flower girl was so much admired, that her
father, a fine-looking young mechanic who came after her bringing red
stockings and neat shoes, carried her off at last in triumph on his
shoulder, saying he was afraid her head would be turned with so much
praise, but thanking everybody with bright smiling eyes for giving his
little girl such a pleasant afternoon.

"She isn't Irish, after all," said Irene Lewis, watching them. "And
Mr. Sherrill shook hands with him as familiarly as though he was an
old friend; I wish we hadn't made such simpletons of ourselves. Lorena
Barstow, what did you want to go and say she was an Irish girl for?"

"I didn't say any such thing," said Lorena in a shrill voice; and
then these two who had been friends in ill humor all the afternoon
quarreled, and went home more unhappy than before. And still I tell you
they were not the worst girls in the world; and were very much ashamed
of themselves.

Before eight o'clock, Norm came. To be sure he stoutly refused, at
first, to step beyond the doorway, and ordered Nettie in a somewhat
surly tone to "bring that young one out," if she wanted her carried
home. That, of course, was the little grandmother; but her eyes looked
as though they had not thought of being sleepy, and the ladies were not
ready to let her go. Then the minister, who seemed to understand things
without having them explained, said, "Where is Decker? we'll make it
all right; come, little grandmother, let us go and see about it." So
he took Sate on his shoulder and made his way through the crowd; and
Nettie who watched anxiously, presently saw Norm coming back with them,
not looking surly at all; his clothes had been brushed, and he had on a
clean collar, and his hair was combed, quite as though he had meant to
come in, after all.

Soon after Norm's coming, something happened which gave Nettie a
glimpse of her brother in a new light. Young Ernest Belmont was there
with his violin. During the afternoon, Nettie had heard whispers of
what a lovely player he was, and at last saw with delight that a space
was being cleared for him to play. Crowds of people gathered about the
platform to listen, but among them all Norm's face was marked; at least
it was to Nettie. She had never seen him look like that. He seemed to
forget the crowds, and the lights, and everything but the sounds which
came from that violin. He stood perfectly still, his eyes never once
turning from their earnest gaze of the fingers which were producing
such wonderful tones. Nettie, looking, and wondering, almost forgot the
music in her astonishment that her brother should be so absorbed. Jerry
with some difficulty elbowed his way towards her, his face beaming, and
said, "Isn't it splendid?"

For answer she said, "Look at Norm." And Jerry looked.

"That's so," he said at last, heartily, speaking as though he was
answering a remark from somebody; "Norm is a musician. Did you know he
liked it so much?"

"I didn't know anything about it," Nettie said, hardly able to keep
back the tears, though she did not understand why her eyes should fill;
but there was such a look of intense enjoyment in Norm's face, mingled
with such a wistful longing for something, as made the tears start in
spite of her. "I didn't know he liked _anything_ so much as that."

"He likes _that_," said Jerry heartily, "and I am glad."

"I don't know. What makes you glad? I am almost sorry; because he may
never have a chance to hear it again."

"He must make his chances; he is going to be a man. I'm glad, because
it gives us a hint as to what his tastes are; don't you see?"

"Why, yes," said Nettie, "I see he likes it; but what is the use in
knowing people's tastes if you cannot possibly do anything for them?"

"There's no such thing as it not being possible to do most anything."
Jerry said good humoredly. "Maybe we will some of us own a violin some
day, and Norm will play it for us. Who knows? Stranger things than that
have happened."

But this thing looked to Nettie so improbable that she merely laughed.
The music suddenly ceased, and Norm came back from dreamland and looked
about him, and blushed, and felt awkward. He saw the people now, and
the lights, and the flowers; he remembered his hands and did not know
what to do with them; and his feet felt too large for the space they
must occupy.

Jerry plunged through the crowd and stood beside him.

"How did you like it?" he asked, and Norm cleared his voice before
replying; he could not understand why his throat should feel so husky.

"I like a fiddle," he said. "There is a fellow comes into the corner
grocery down there by Crossman's and plays, sometimes; I always go down
there, when I hear of it."

If Jerry could have caught Nettie's eye just then he would have made a
significant gesture; the store by Crossman's made tobacco and liquor
its chief trade. So a fiddle was one of the things used to draw the
boys into it!

"Is a fiddle the only kind of music you like?" Jerry had been
accustomed to calling it a violin, but the instinct of true politeness
which was marked in him, made him say fiddle just now as Norm had done.

"Oh! I like anything that whistles a tune!" said Norm. "I've gone
a rod out of my way to hear a jew's-harp many a time; even an old
hand-organ sounds nice to me. I don't know why, but I never hear one
without stopping and listening as long as I can." He laughed a little,
as though ashamed of the taste, and looked at Jerry suspiciously. But
there was not the slightest hint of a smile on the boy's face, only
hearty interest and approval.

"I like music, too, almost any sort; but I don't believe I like it as
well as you. Your face looked while you were listening as though you
could make some yourself if you tried."

The smile went out quickly from Norm's face, and Jerry thought he heard
a little sigh with the reply:

"I never had a chance to try; and never expect to have."

"Well, now, I should like to know why not? I never could understand why
a boy with brains, and hands, and feet, shouldn't have a try at almost
anything which was worth trying, sometime in his life." It was not
Jerry who said this, but the minister who had come up in time to hear
the last words from both sides. He stopped before Norm, smiling as he
spoke. "Try the music, my friend, by all means, if you like it. It is a
noble taste, worth cultivating."

Norm looked sullen. "It's easy to talk," he said severely, "but when a
fellow has to work like a dog to get enough to eat and wear, to keep
him from starving or freezing, I'd like to see him get a chance to try
at music, or anything else of that kind!"

"So should I. He is the very fellow who ought to have the chance; and
more than that, in nine cases out of ten he is the fellow who gets it.
A boy who is willing and able to work, is pretty sure, in this country,
to have opportunity to gratify his tastes in the end. He may have to
wait awhile, but that only sharpens the appetite of a genuine taste;
if it is a worthy taste, as music certainly is, it will grow with his
growth, and will help him to plan, and save, and contrive, until one of
these days he will show you! By the way, you would like organ music, I
fancy; the sort which is sometimes played on parlor organs. If you will
come to the parsonage to-morrow night at eight o'clock, I think I can
promise you something which you will enjoy. My sister is going to try
some new music for a few friends, at that time; suppose you come and
pick out your favorite?"

All Jerry's satisfaction and interest shone in his face; to-morrow
night at eight o'clock! All day he had been trying to arrange something
which would keep Norm at that hour away from the aforesaid corner
grocery, where he happened to know some doubtful plans were to be
arranged for future mischief, by the set who gathered there. If only
Norm would go to the parsonage it would be the very thing. But Norm
flushed and hesitated. "Bring a friend with you," said the minister.
"Bring Jerry, here; you like music, don't you, Jerry?"

"Yes, sir," said Jerry promptly; "I like music very much, and I would
like to go if Norm is willing."

"Bring Jerry with you." That sentence had a pleasant sound. Up to this
moment it was the younger boy who had patronized the elder. Norm called
him the "little chap," but for all that looked up to him with a curious
sort of respect such as he felt for none of the "fellows" who were his
daily companions; the idea of bringing him to a place of entertainment
had its charms.

"May I expect you?" asked the minister, reading his thoughts almost as
plainly as though they had been printed on his face, and judging that
this was the time to press an acceptance.

"Why, yes," said Norm, "I suppose so."

One of these days Norman Decker will not think of accepting an
invitation with such words, but his intentions are good, now, and the
minister thanks him as though he had received a favor, and departs well
pleased.

[Illustration: STUDYING THE EGGSHELL.]

And now it is really growing late and little Sate must be carried
home. It was an evening to remember.

They talked it over by inches the next morning. Nettie finishing the
breakfast dishes, and Jerry sitting on the doorstep fashioning a
bracket for the kitchen lamp.

Nettie talked much about Ermina Farley. "She is just as lovely and
sweet as she can be. It was beautiful in her to come over to me as she
did when she came into that yard; part of it was for little Trudie's
sake, and a great deal of it was for my sake. I saw that at the time;
and I saw it plainer all the afternoon. She didn't give me a chance
to feel alone once; and she didn't stay near me as though she felt she
ought to, but didn't want to, either; she just took hold and helped do
everything Miss Sherrill gave me to do, and was as bright and sweet as
she could be. I shall never forget it of her. But for all that," she
added as she wrung out her dishcloth with an energy which the small
white rag hardly needed, "I know it was pretty hard for her to do it,
and I shall not give her a chance to do it again."

"I want to know what there was hard about it?" said Jerry, looking up
in astonishment. "I thought Ermina Farley seemed to be having as good a
time as anybody there."

"Oh, well now, I know, you are not a girl; boys are different from
girls. They are not so kind-of-mean! At least, some of them are not,"
she added quickly, having at that moment a vivid recollection of some
mean things which she had endured from boys. "Really I don't think they
are," she said, after a moment's thoughtful pause, and replying to the
quizzical look on his face. "They don't think about dresses, and hats,
and gloves, and all those sorts of things as girls do, and they don't
say such hateful things. Oh! I _know_ there is a great difference; and
I know just how Ermina Farley will be talked about because she went
with me, and stood up for me so; and I think it will be very hard for
her. I used to think so about you, but you--are real different from
girls!"

"It amounts to about this," said Jerry, whittling gravely. "Good boys
are different from bad girls, and bad boys are different from good
girls."

Nettie laughed merrily. "No," she said, "I do know what I am talking
about, though you don't think so; I know real splendid girls who
couldn't have done as Ermina Farley did yesterday, and as you do all
the time; and what I say is, I don't mean to put myself where she will
_have_ to do it, much. I don't want to go to their parties; I don't
expect a chance to go, but if I had it, I wouldn't go; and just for her
sake, I don't mean to be always around for her to have to take care of
me as she did yesterday. I have something else to do."

Said Jerry, "Where do you think Norm is going to take me this evening?"

"Norm going to take you!" great wonderment in the tone. "Why, where
could he take you? I don't know, I am sure."

"He is to take me to the parsonage at eight o'clock to hear some
wonderful music on the organ. He has been invited, and has had
permission to bring me with him if he wants to. Don't you talk about
not putting yourself where other people will have to take care of you!
I advise you to cultivate the acquaintance of your brother. It isn't
everybody who gets invited to the parsonage to hear such music as Miss
Sherrill can make."

The dishcloth was hung away now, and every bit of work was done.
Nettie stood looking at the whittling boy in the doorway for a minute
in blank astonishment, then she clasped her hands and said: "O Jerry!
Did they do it? Aren't they the very splendidest people you ever knew
in your life?"

"They are pretty good," said Jerry, "that's a fact; they are most as
good as my father. I'll tell you what it is, Nettie, if you knew my
father you would know a man who would be worth remembering. I had a
letter from him last night, and he sent a message to my friend Nettie."

"What?" asked Nettie, her eyes very bright.

"It was that you were to take good care of his boy; for in his opinion
the boy was worth taking care of. On the strength of that I want you to
come out and look at Mother Speckle; she is in a very important frame
of mind, and has been scolding her children all the morning. I don't
know what is the trouble; there are two of her daughters who seem to
have gone astray in some way; at least she is very much displeased with
them. Twice she has boxed Fluffie's ears, and once she pulled a feather
out of poor Buff. Look at her, how forlorn she seems!"

By this time they were making their way to the little house where the
hen lived, Nettie agreeing to go for a very few minutes, declaring that
if Norm was going out every evening there was work to do. He would
need a clean collar and she must do it up; for mother had gone out to
iron for the day. "Mother is so grateful to Mrs. Smith for getting her
a chance to work," she said, as they paused before the two disgraced
chickens; "she says she would never have thought of it if it had not
been for her; you know she always used to sew. Why, how funny those
chickens look! Only see, Jerry, they are studying that eggshell as
though they thought they could make one. Now don't they look exactly as
though they were planning something?"

"They are," said Jerry. "They are planning going to housekeeping, I
believe; you see they have quarreled with their mother. They consider
that they have been unjustly punished, and I am in sympathy with
them; and they believe they could make a house to live in out of that
eggshell if they could only think of a way to stick it together again.
I wish _we_ could build a house out of eggshells; or even one room, and
we'd have one before the month was over."

"Why?" said Nettie, stooping down to see why Buff kept her foot under
her. "Do you want a room, Jerry?"

"Somewhat," said Jerry. "At least I see a number of things we could do
if we had a room, that I don't know how to do without one. Come over
here, Nettie, and sit down; leave those chickens to sulk it out, and
let us talk a little. I have a plan so large that there is no place to
put it."


HOW A SMALL BOY GOT HIS RIGHTS.

BIG men are not always just or generous, and many times the small boy
is a sufferer at their hands. Sometimes the big man is cross because
he has eaten too much dinner--the small boy will understand now how
uncomfortable he feels--and as he is too big to cry he vents his ill
humor, many times, on the first small boy who comes in his way. Now,
you know that some people think that if you eat too much meat you will
become savage, and, as this man who was unjust to the small boy was a
butcher, perhaps he had eaten so much meat that he had become in part a
savage. In one of the police-courts up-town, in New York, one morning,
not long since, a very small boy in knickerbockers, appeared. He had a
dilapidated cap in one hand and a green cotton bag in the other. Behind
him came a big policeman with a grin on his face. When the boy found
himself in the court-room he hesitated and looked as if he would like
to retreat, but as he half-turned and saw the grin on his escort's
face, he shut his lips tighter and meandered up to the desk.

"Please, sir, are you the judge?" he asked, in a voice that had a queer
little quiver in it.

"I am, my boy; what can I do for you?" asked the Justice, as he looked
wonderingly down at the mite before him.

"If you please, sir, I'm Johnny Moore. I'm seven years old, and I live
in One Hundred and Twenty-third street, near the avenue, and the only
good place to play miggles on is in front of a lot near our house,
where the ground is smooth; but a butcher on the corner," and here his
voice grew steady and his cheeks flushed, "that hasn't any more right
to the place than we have, keeps his wagon standing there, and this
morning we were playing miggles there, and he drove us away, and took
six of mine, and threw them away off over the fence into the lot, and I
went to the police station, and they laughed at me, and told me to come
here and tell you about it."

The big policeman and the spectators began to laugh boisterously,
and the complainant at the bar trembled so violently with mingled
indignation and fright that the marbles in his little green bag rattled
together.

The Justice, however, rapped sharply on the desk, and quickly brought
everybody to dead silence. "You did perfectly right, my boy," said he
gravely, "to come here and tell me about it. You have as much right
to your six marbles as the richest man in this city has to his bank
account. If every American citizen had as much regard for their rights
as you show there would be far less crime. And you, sir," he added,
turning to the big policeman, who now looked as solemn as a funeral,
"you go with this little man to that butcher and make him pay for those
marbles, or else arrest him and bring him here."

You see this boy knew that his rights had been interfered with, and
he went to the one having authority to redress his wrongs. He did
not throw stones or say naughty words, but in a manly, dignified way
demanded his rights.--_Selected._


HOW THE FIRST PANSY WAS MADE.

    AN angel's thought flew down to earth,
      Borne on a golden beam of light;
    And pausing, rested in the heart
      Of a sweet, blue-eyed violet bright.

    And finding there a flower-soul
      Free from all taint of earthly pride,
    The angel's thought would fain remain,
      And in the Pansy still doth hide.

    And so these gold and purple flowers,
      The soft-eyed Pansies which we love,
    Sprang from the violet which received
      An angel's thought from heaven above.
                      LYDIA HOYT FARMER.


POEM FOR RECITATION.

EASTER.

    My sweet little neighbor Bessie
      I thought was busy with play,
    When she turned, and brightly questioned,
      "Say, what is the Easter day?"

    "Has nobody told you, darling--
      Do they 'Feed His Lambs' like this?"
    I gathered her to my bosom,
      And gave her a tender kiss.

    Away went the cloak for dolly,
      And away went dolly too,
    As again she eagerly questioned,
      With eyes so earnest and blue:

    "Is it like birthdays or Christmas--
      Or like Thanksgiving Day;
    Do we just be good like Sunday,
      Or run and frolic and play?

    "I know there's flowers to it,
      And that is most all I know;
    I've got a lovely rosebush,
      And a bud begins to grow."

    Then in words most few and simple
      I told to the gentle child
    The story whose end is Easter--
      The Life of the Undefiled.

    Told of the manger of Bethlehem,
      And about the glittering star
    That guided the feet of the shepherds
      Watching their flocks from afar,

    Told of the lovely Mother,
      And the Baby who was born
    To live on the earth among us
      Bearing its sorrows and scorn.

    And then I told of the life He lived
      Those wonderful thirty years,
    Sad, weary, troubled, forsaken,
      In this world of sin and tears,

    Until I came to the shameful death
      That the Lord of Glory died,
    Then the tender little maiden
      Uplifted her voice and cried.

    I came at length to the garden
      Where they laid His form away,
    And then in the course of telling
      I came to the Easter day--

    The day when sorrowing women
      Came there to the grave to moan,
    And the lovely shining angels
      Had rolled away the stone.

    I think I made her understand
      As well as childhood can,
    About the glorified risen life
      Of him who was God and Man.

    This year the fair Easter lilies
      Will gleam through a mist of tears,
    For I shall not see sweet Bessie
      In all of the coming years.

    When the snow lay white and thickest
      She quietly went away
    To learn from the lips of angels
      The meaning of Easter day.

    We put on the little body
      The garments worn in life,
    And laid her deep in the frozen earth
      Away from all noise and strife.

    We took all the dainty playthings,
      And the dollies new and old,
    And placed them in a sacred spot
      With a tress of shining gold.

    Were it not for the star of Bethlehem,
      And the dawn of Easter day,
    It would be to us most bitter
      To put our darling away.

    But we know that as the hard brown earth
      Holds lilies regal and white,
    So the lifeless, empty, useless clay
      Held once an angel of light.

    And I hope on the Easter morning
      To look from the grave away,
    Thinking not of the child that _was_,
      But the child that _is_ to-day.
                          EMILY BAKER SMALLE.

[Illustration: MY SWEET LITTLE NEIGHBOR BESSIE.]




    _Volume 13, Number 24._      Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.
                         _April 17, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: "THE SEA TOOK ON ITS SULLEN LOOK."]


WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.

FIRST, through some of the busiest, narrowest, noisiest, dirtiest
streets of New York City; if you have never hurried down them, you have
no idea how much that means. A ferry boat, a bit of a ride, and I was
in New York no more, but in New Jersey. The Jersey Central train stood
waiting.

"All aboard for Long Branch," shouted an official. I did not want to go
to Long Branch, but I hurried along as fast as though I did; the truth
was, I knew my stopping place was not far away from that famous spot.
In a few minutes we were off; not long before the smell of old ocean
began to steal in at the windows, and at last we caught glimpses of
beach stretching away in the distance.

Not a long ride, only a matter of a couple of hours on an express
train, despite the many stations called out: "Matawan," and "Red Bank,"
and "Little Silver," and I know not how many more. At last, "Long
Branch" and "Elberon;" then, in a few minutes more, "Ocean Grove and
Asbury Park." At this, a great company of us began to scurry around and
find our shawl straps, and lunch baskets, and what not.

I'm not going to tell you about Asbury Park; at least not much. Some
other time I may say a good deal about this pretty city by the sea, but
just now I'm anxious to tell of what happened at night. The day had
been pleasant enough; not summer, but late spring, bright and sunshiny;
we rejoiced over the thought of getting sight of the beautiful beach;
reminding each other how lovely the sea looked by moonlight.

Alas, there was no moon for us that night! At least she did not once
show her silver face; instead, the sky was black with clouds, and
the sea took on its sullen look, and roared as it lashed the shore
constantly with great angry waves. We shivered and tugged at our wraps
as the wind tried to whirl them away, and said, as we turned to go
home, how glad we were that we had no friends at sea. "The ocean looks
cruel," said Grace; "I don't like him to-night."

Then we went home to our bright room; drew the curtains, closed the
shutters, stirred the fire to a cheery blaze, and chatted and laughed
and were happy, quite shutting out the roar of the angry sea.
But he did not calm; the waves ran high, and the sullen roar kept
increasing, until, by midnight, we knew it was what seamen call a gale.
Occasionally we heard the fog bell toll out, and once more we were glad
that we had no dear ones at sea.

Somebody had, though; and while we slept quietly, knowing nothing of
it, brave men were awake and at work. A danger signal was seen just off
shore; what excitement there was! How did the men of the life-saving
crew know that they were needed? They had been disbanded for the
summer, the dangerous season being supposed to be over; and here was
blowing one of the worst storms of the winter! I don't know how they
heard the news. Their hearts waked and watched, perhaps; anyway, they
came, great stalwart men, and in a twinkling opened their boathouse,
and got out their apparatus which had been carefully put away, and
before the third signal went up through the stormy water, were ready
for action.

I don't know how they did it. At this time of which I write, they had
no regular lifeboat such as is now in use; they were not regularly
manned for work in any way. Never mind, they did it. One, two, three,
four, five, six, seven. Oh, I do not know how many people rode, some
way, over the stormy water, on a rope, and reached the shore. Drenched,
powerless, almost breathless, yet alive! Who do you think was one of
the first to arrive that night? Why, a little baby less than three
months old! What! _She_ did not cling to ropes! Oh, no. All she did
was to lie in utmost quiet in the hands of a great strong man; he was
lashed to the rope in such a way that the men on shore could pull him
in, but the baby he held in his two strong hands, as high above the
fury of the waves as the hands would reach. What if he had dropped her?
Then the sea would have swallowed her in an instant? An awful journey,
but the baby did not know it. She must have gasped a little for breath,
and she may have cried, but no one heard her; the roaring ocean took
care of that.

You don't see how she lived through it? They did not think she could;
not even the mother, when she took a second to kiss her, before she
gave her into the strong arms, thought that she should ever see her
darling again. But it was the only possible way of escape; they could
but try. So the baby rode into shore, and I think as many as a hundred
mothers stood waiting to receive her, with hot blankets enough to
smother her, and warm milk enough to drown her in; for it had gotten
abroad in some way that a baby was on board the sinking ship. If you
could have heard the shout that went up when the baby was landed in the
arms of one mother, who said, after a second of solemn hush: "Yes, she
is living!" you would have felt as though you almost knew what a life
was worth.

The next morning what a walk we had along the coast! How still the sea
lay; the waves crept up softly one after another as if so ashamed of
their last night's work that they would a little rather not be seen or
heard at all. Bits of board, and old tarred rope, and barrel staves
and seaweed lined the beach for miles, and coffee sacks by the hundred
kept washing in to shore. The vessel had been laden with coffee. People
were very busy putting the beach in order, planning how to reach the
wreck, wondering whether she could be gotten off, or would have to lie
half-buried in the sand and slowly fall to pieces. Here and there were
groups of people, listening, while one man talked excitedly; he was a
sailor and had his wonderful story to tell of danger and escape. But
the happiest man on the beach that morning was one who rubbed his hands
in actual glee, and smiling broadly on every one who came up to him,
would say in a loud, glad voice, "Yes, I lost everything I had in the
world, but my wife and children are all here; yes, baby and all!" and
then he would wipe the great tears from his eyes, and laugh so loud and
glad a laugh that all the people around would have to join it.

All his children safe! They clustered around him, several
sturdy-looking boys, and I watched them with eager interest. _Were_
they all safe? Could the father be sure? The ocean had not swallowed
them, but suppose some awful rum saloon caught them in its clutches
and drew them in and in until they went down in a storm of drunkenness
to utter ruin! What was an ocean storm to that? Pitiless ocean,
rave as it might, could not touch the soul; but the rum saloon has
power to destroy both body and soul. What joy there was over the
three-months-old baby! and yet she may live to be a drunkard's wife,
and a drunkard's mother, and to cry out in bitterness of soul because
the ocean did not swallow her that night. Isn't it strange and sad to
think of? The father thought his children safe, and yet so many oceans
of temptation lay ready to engulf them! none more bitter, more fierce,
more wide-spread in its raging, than this ocean of alcohol. Dear boys
and girls, what can we do to help save the children for their fathers?
Will you all join the life-saving crew, and work with a will, to rescue
victims from this ocean?

                                                PANSY.


"FATHER'S OLD BOOTS ARE THERE."

MANY a picture of moving pathos appears in the dark gallery of
drunkenness. We have seen but few more touching ones than this from
the pen of Mrs. M. A. Kidder. She describes little Benny, the son of a
drunken father, sitting in a room with his mother and little sister. By
looking at this sad and thoughtful face one would have taken him to be
ten years of age, yet he was but six. No wonder. For four years this
almost baby had been used to seeing a drunken father go in and out of
the cottage. He scarcely remembers anything from him but cruelty and
abuse. But now he is dead! The green sod had lain on his grave a week
or so, but the terrible effects of his conduct were not buried with
him. The poor children would start with a shudder at every uncertain
step on the walk outside, and at every hesitating hand upon the latch.
On the day mentioned Benny's mother was getting dinner. "Will my little
son go to the wood-shed, and get mother a few sticks to finish boiling
the kettle?"

"I don't like to go to the wood-shed, mamma."

"Why, my son?"

"Because there is a pair of father's old boots out there, and I don't
like to see them."

"Why do you mind the old boots, Benny, any more than the old coat and
hat upstairs?"

"Because," said Benny, tears filling his blue eyes, "they look as if
they wanted to kick me."

Oh the dreadful after-influence of a drunken father to innocent
children! what an awful memory to bear through life!--_Richmond
Christian Advocate._


MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE.

BY PARANETE.

VI.--MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE SAVES A LIFE.


"WHEN morning came," continued my friend, "how disconsolate I was! In
all my wanderings I had never had the misfortune to be cast out and
trodden under foot of men before! The sun was shining beautifully, the
dew was glittering on the blades of grass, the birds were singing, and
the flowers were blooming sweetly, but I was unhappy.

[Illustration: THE BOYS' DOGS.]

"Suddenly a little boy and girl turned the corner, and walked swiftly
up towards that part of the walk where I was. The little girl uttered
an exclamation:

"'Good luck, Fred! I've found a pin!' and she picked me up and put me
in her belt. They walked along, talking merrily, when a butterfly flew
along the walk. The little boy ran after it, and soon had it under his
hat. 'Let me have that pin, Bess,' he said, and when she had given me
to him he pinned his handkerchief over the hat, with me and another pin
that he had, and walked home bareheaded.

"Reaching their house, he went up to his room, threw the other poor
pin out of the window, and, much to my dismay, impaled the butterfly
on me. How horrid I felt! I would have shuddered if I could, for how
cruel was the boy to make me the innocent instrument of the death of a
poor winged insect, that had been so bright and happy but a few moments
before!

"But just then his sister came along, and seeing the butterfly
fluttering on me, gradually losing its strength, she uttered an
exclamation of horror, and let the poor thing go, placing me where she
had before. Her brother Fred came in.

"'Now, Bess, that's mean! What possessed you to let my butterfly go?'

"'Because it was so cruel, Fred dear. I couldn't bear to see it
struggling so!' and a tear came into her eye.

"Her brother muttered something about girls' tender feelings.

"That day as Bessie and her mother were sitting sewing on the piazza of
their house, her mother wanted a pin, and so she speedily delivered me
into the lady's hands. She used me for some sewing a little while, and
then put me on a little pincushion in her work-box, where I remained
for about a week.

"Then there was a commotion in the house. I learned from various talks
that Fred with a good many other boys, was going camping into the
woods, and they were busy getting ready for his departure. He was off
at last. He had a gun, a satchel full of clothing, and an umbrella.
Just as he was going out of the door, and his mother was kissing him
good-by, she said:

"'Fred, wait a moment. I didn't give you any pins, and you may need
some.'

"So saying, she took me and a few others from the cushion in her
work-box, and putting them hastily on Fred's coat, bade him good-by
again, and he started.

"I cannot tell you all the fun that the boys had in the woods; they
seemed perfectly happy, and fished, and shot poor animals, and
climbed, all the time. Wherever Fred went, I went too.

"At night they would go into the tents, and lie down, sleeping soundly
all night, and getting up early in the morning, to eat what they had
caught latest the day before. All night I kept watch over Fred's
pillow, in his coat that was hanging on a nail driven into one of the
tent-poles.

"One day one of the dogs came to the place where the boys were taking
dinner, sniffing around their legs, and showing as plainly as possible
that he had discovered something. The boys hastily finished their
dinner, and followed the noble animal into the woods. Soon the dog
stopped, and looking ahead, they saw, by a pool, a splendid deer
drinking, little suspecting what danger there was near.

"'Fire!' said the boys' leader; and a dozen shots went crashing into
the poor deer's side. It fell down dying. One of the boys went over
to examine it. When he reached it, it gave one faint struggle, and
expired. But a boy that had remained thought it was yet alive, and
fired another shot, taking care not to aim at the one who had gone
forward. But he was just bending over to examine the horns of the
animal, and the shot went crashing into his leg! Then there was an
uproar! The boys all rushed forward, my master among them, and examined
the poor boy's leg, which was bleeding very badly.

"'Where is a bandage?' said some one. So the leader took out of his
pocket a very large handkerchief, and wound it tightly just above the
wound. The blood stopped flowing. 'Where is a string to tie it with?'
he said. No one had one, but Fred put his hand to his coat, and taking
me from it, said, 'Here is a pin, Tom. Pin it quick!'

"So the handkerchief was pinned tightly around the leg, and the blood
didn't ooze out any more. However, the wound pained the poor boy very
much. The others fixed him pretty comfortably on the soft body of the
deer, while two of them went for a doctor as fast as possible.

"It was two hours before he came.

"'Not very serious,' he said, at which every body drew a long breath of
relief. 'But it would have been,' he continued, 'if you hadn't pinned
this bandage on so securely. He would certainly have bled to death.'

[Illustration: A BUTTERFLY FLEW ALONG.]

"You may imagine that I felt proud then. I had saved a life! If it had
not been for me the boy would have died! To be sure, another pin would
have done, but then it was--_me_! I felt that I was doing wrong to be
so proud, and like everyone who sins, I got my punishment. When the
doctor undid the bandage, he carelessly threw me on the ground, and
paid no more attention to me, for when he replaced a better bandage on
the limb, he used a wide strip of cloth to fasten it with.

"You can not imagine my feelings then! There I was, cast on the ground
in the woods, where nobody would ever find me. I would rust, and fall
to pieces! I would never be moved from that lonesome, dreary place.
And it was my fault! I felt that it was my punishment for feeling so
proud. To be sure, the doctor did not know that I was proud when he
threw me on ground, but I felt 'in my bones,' as it were, that it was
my punishment for feeling so lofty because I had been the humble means
of saving a life. The agony of those few moments will be a lesson to me
through life, and if I ever feel lofty and haughty again, I shall be
surprised.

"I say 'those few moments,' for soon, some of the boys came to remove
the body of the deer, and Fred, who was among them, happening to see me
on the ground said:

"'Halloo! I guess I'll pick you up. I've learned how useful a pin may
be.'

"So my stay on the ground in the woods was not long, for he returned me
to the lining of his coat."


TO PANSY.

    GOD loves Pansies, with their child-like faces
    Looking up, catching every ray of light,
    Seeking to be fair in the Father's sight.
    One who owneth all their charms and graces,
    Lighting up, like them, earth's desert places,
    Claims sweet sisterhood with these blossoms bright;
    Hears God's voice saying to her, "Pansy, write!"
    In letters purple with love, she traces
    With golden pen the Saviour's message true;
    Myriad voices in Heaven will repeat,
    "Pansy, lessons of love they've learned from you;
    And lay their crowns with you, at Jesus' feet."
    From your sweet Pansy blooms of purest thought
    My soul a glimpse of Heaven's joy hath caught.

    ROCKVILLE, MASS.     _With the love of_ ARBUTUS.


SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.

L.--LYON, MARY.


FROM 1797 until 1849, a period of fifty-two years, Mary Lyon lived upon
this earth. Some lives seem too short. To us they appear to be broken
off at the wrong place--in the midst of earnest successful work--and we
wonder how the world can get along without them. And so I suppose it
must have seemed to those interested in the grand work of education in
which Mary Lyon was engaged when she at the command of the Master laid
down the burden and slept the last sleep. For thirty-five years she
had been using her talents and her energies in training up young girls
for noble womanhood. Like others in our list of Remarkable Women, her
early home was among the New England hills. As another has expressed
it, "On the little mountain farm the child saw the flax grow to make
her single summer dress, and herself petted and fed the lambs and sheep
which gave the wool to keep her warm in winter. The fairy flax flowers,
blue as heaven, delighted her eyes." And we may believe that later she
watched the process of preparing the flax for the wheel and loom, and
we are told that the little girl in her homespun dress which made her
no oddity in the old-time country school, was earnest and diligent in
her studies, standing at the head of her classes and steadily advancing
in scholarship. Mary Lyon early realized that life was not meant for a
play-day, and when at the age of seventeen she became a teacher, she
took with her into the schoolroom a strong faith and earnest endeavor
for the highest development of her pupils. She sought more than mental
progress--even moral and spiritual growth. Though she taught, leaving
her impress for good in other places, Mt. Holyoke Seminary, at South
Hadley, stands as her monument. The founding of this school was her
great work, and in thousands of homes her influence is still felt.
Many of our mothers and grandmothers are living lives of usefulness,
the inspiration of which was drawn from lessons learned of this most
remarkable of teachers. Mary Lyon was one of the great teachers of
this world. If there should be among the girls who read this article
those who expect to become teachers, let me urge you to study the life
of Mary Lyon. See if you can find out the secret of her success; go
over the record of her struggle with the difficulties encountered in
those days when Mt. Holyoke Seminary was getting a foothold. One has
said that "the story of Mary Lyon and her work should be read by every
young girl who desires to know the meaning of a noble and consecrated
life." I think you will find the secret of her successful life lies in
the fact of its being a consecrated life; consecrated to the high and
noble purpose for which she labored. Believing "that Christian women
inspired with Christian zeal would be powerful promoters of the kingdom
of Christ in this world," she sought to perfect a plan whereby young
girls might be brought under the influences which would tend to inspire
their hearts, awaken their powers, and prepare them for the positions
of influence which they might be called to occupy. With a sublime faith
in the leadership of Christ, a belief that she was called to do this
thing, she fought out the battle, accomplished her mission and left
behind her in many hearts a spirit akin to her own. Out from the sweet,
sacred influences of this first collegiate school for girls established
in this country, have gone thousands of noble women. Some have gone
to carry the word of life into the dark places of earth, showing the
beauty of a Christian home as contrasted with the heathen homes; some
have gone out to establish other schools of like character; and on
mission fields, in homes everywhere and in schools and in society, the
spirit which so long ago found expression in that consecrated life is
still influencing the world for good.

                                        FAYE HUNTINGTON.


OLD ROVER.

    YOU naughty old dog
      Just run right away!
    For Annie and I
      Are going to play.
    And then Minnie struck
      Old Rover's thick hide
    With her dimpled hand
      As he stood at her side.

    "Why, Minnie! how can you?"
      Said sweet Annie May.
    "Have you never been told
      Of that terrible day
    When the waters went mad
      With foaming and strife,
    And Rover, good dog,
      Saved your dear little life?

    "All night the Delaware
      Rose; and then
    While papa was gone
      For boats and for men,
    Mamma, she cuddled you
      Safe and warm,
    And left you for Rover
      To guard from harm

    "While she tried to save
      A few things more.
    But when she returned
      Through the water's roar,
    Your cradle was gone!
      And old Rover, too.
    Poor mamma! she cried
      '_Oh what shall I do!_'

    "Papa came back and took us away,
      Searching for you
    The rest of the day.
      At night, a fisherman
    Sailed o'er the deep,
      With you in your cradle
    Fast asleep!

    "He found old Rover
      Towing you down
    To a little island
      Near the town.
    All day careful vigil
      Rover had kept,
    While you, all unconscious,
      Had smiled and slept."

    Now Rover was hugged!
      And blue eyes were wet,
    As Minnie said, low,
      "I shall never forget!
    When I've anything good
      He shall have a big part;
    And a _great big place_
      All his own, in my heart."

                              S. R. SILL.

[Illustration: ROVER, DRESSED UP.]




    _Volume 13, Number 25._     Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _April 24, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration:

    Deep within the frozen earth,
      Fairest seeds of bloom are sleeping.
    Waiting May's re-echoing mirth--
      April's days of tender weeping.

    Palest blooms and richest dyes
    In these close-shut cells are hidden
    Fragrance rare, all breathless lies,
    E'en its gentlest sigh forbidden.

    Are there not lives sad and drear
      Fairest seeds of heart bloom holding,
    Waiting for kind words of cheer,
      Waiting Love for their unfolding?

    LINDA M. DUVALL.

HIDDEN BEAUTY.]


ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

BY MARGARET SIDNEY.


VI.

BETSEY, the farmer's wife, put up a lunch large enough to last a couple
of voyagers for a two days' journey, and bustled around in her quickest
style, so that she ran out to the barn with her big basket as Farmer
Bassett drew a long breath and declared himself ready to start.

"Do hurry, John," she begged, setting her basket within the sleigh,
"those poor creeters must be half-starved, let alone their crying
theirselves eenamost to death."

Then her motherly heart that had taken up entirely the cause of the
boys, allowed throbs of pity to be felt on Thomas' account as she saw
the effect of her words upon him, and she hastened to add--"You'll make
pretty quick time after you git on the road, and boys always know how
to have a good time as long as daylight lasts, at any rate."

"You better believe, Betsey," declared Farmer Bassett, "that we will
not let the grass, or the snow rather, accumulate under our feet, will
we, Jack?" caressing his horse. "There, Mr. ---- what'd you say your
name was?" turning to the man beside him.

"Thomas, sir--Thomas Bradley. But I'm better known as Mr. Bangs' man,
bad luck to the day I shirked a bit. But I'll catch it enough when I
get home, though"--

"And serves you quite right, Thomas," observed Farmer Bassett; "well,
get in, and we'll be off. Good-by, mother!" He didn't kiss her; it
was not the New England way in which they had both been reared, but
he did look at her round, comely face with such an expression in his
gray eyes that a smile went back to him from the lips firmly folded
together--"Take care of yourself now, an' the house, I'll be along in
the mornin'."

Then he got into the sleigh, and tucking up the well-worn robes around
his companion and himself, signified to Jack by a loud "_g'lang!_" that
he was expected to start.

"I s'pose you're going to talk to me now," said Thomas awkwardly,
after they had turned the corner from which the last view of the
comfortable red farmhouse could be seen, "and give me a piece of your
mind for leaving them chaps and disobeying master. You've a good right,
I'm sure, being as you're getting me out o' the scrape."

"I ain't one to do preachin' to other folks," said the farmer shortly.
"I have enough to do to take care o' my own sins."

Thomas stared in amazement into the tough, leathery face. That any
one who could claim the least right, should let slip to "give it to"
another man caught in a peccadillo, he could not understand, and
he took the only way to find relief that came to his mind. When he
finished scratching his head in a perplexed way, he relapsed into
silence that was not broken till at least half the distance to Sachem
Hill was traversed.

Then the old farmer began to converse, but on general topics, and in
such a cheery way, that his travelling companion came a bit out of his
shamefaced despondency feeling as if there might be a chance even for
him in the world once more.

By the time that Jack jingled them into the vicinity of Mr. Bangs'
summer cottage, the two were in such a good state of mind that any one
meeting them would have said it was only a pleasure excursion that drew
them out to enjoy the night.

And now Thomas sat erect and drew his breath fast, while his eyes,
strained to their utmost, pierced the gathering darkness for the first
glimpse of the house.

"Turn here up this lane, master," he begged suddenly, "it's a short
cut," and the old farmer lashed Jack, all the time begging the
astonished animal's pardon, while he hurried up the back way as
directed.

"Good--oh!" groaned Thomas, pulling his arm, and pointing with a
shaking hand. Farmer Bassett more intent on the feelings of the
faithful horse, and on getting on, had not glanced up. At this cry of
distress he did, and now saw with Thomas a bright light gleaming from
one of the upper windows of the Bangs' cottage.

"It's FIRE!" said Thomas hoarsely, plucking him by the arm again. "We
must 'a' left somethin' smoulderin' in the fire-place"--

"Nonsense," said the farmer reassuringly. Nevertheless he gave Jack
another cut that made him jounce at a fearful rate up to the back
veranda.

Thomas leaped out and sped up the steps. Farmer Bassett tarried only
long enough to fasten Jack to the hitching-post, throw his blanket over
him, and give one pat on his head, then followed.

"_Boys!_" screamed Thomas, racing up and down the veranda, and shaking
the doors, "are you in there?"

But only the branches of the trees creaked in the cold wind for answer.
Thomas stamped in very fury.

"See here," said the old farmer, down on the ground and pointing up,
"look at their heads. They're all safe an' sound, an' not half as cold
as you an' I."

With that he sent out such a halloo that Thomas on the veranda clapped
his hands to his ears. It had the effect desired, for at least two of
the windows in the gable end of the cottage were thrown up, and as many
boys' heads as could possibly be accommodated, were thrust out.

"Halloo, Thomas, halloo," called one voice in derision, "don't you wish
you were here too?"

"You're a nice one," said Master Wingate, "and won't you catch it,
though, when you get home. You'll be place-hunting as soon as you can
say 'Jack Robinson'"--

"See here, you young scamp," shouted the old farmer, "it will be for
your interest to end that sort of talk, now I tell you. You just step
down lively an' open one of these doors. We've cooled our heels enough
comin' to look for you an' don't propose to stand here any longer.
Hurry up, now."

The boys stared in astonishment down into as much of his face as the
darkness would permit them to see, and recognizing from the quality of
his voice that a parley would not be acceptable, drew in their heads
and proceeded to obey the order.

"Who is the old party?" cried one of the boys as they ran over the
stairs.

"I don't know," returned Wingate, "I'm sure."

"Don't let us open the door then," urged another boy; "see here,
Wingate," laying a detaining hand on his arm, "you are not obliged
to--nobody has a right to order you to unlock your father's house.
Don't do it; we'll lose all the fun of keeping Thomas out till we've
had the fun of scaring him all we want to."

Master Wingate hesitated. But a vigorous rap on the dining-room
door at the foot of the staircase, made him start, and a loud
imperative--"Hurry up, there," caused him to redouble his speed.

"I guess we better let 'em in," he said, and slid back the bolt.


THE DESERT MIRAGE.

I SUPPOSE you all have heard of the mirage, which is a delusion of the
eye, and which often deceives the poor traveller across the weary,
pathless desert. Sometimes, when the caravan is about to give up, and
lie down to die of weariness and thirst, they will suddenly feel their
courage revived by the sight, as they suppose, of a lovely oasis, with
lofty palms and silvery fountains.

Not long since I was reading an account of a whole regiment who when
the Egyptians first conquered Nubia were destroyed. The poor creatures
saw this mirage, and ordered their guide to take them thither. He
insisted that it was only the delusive mirage, and, in their anger,
they fell upon and killed him. The regiment then rushed for the
supposed lake. Faint and weary they hurried over the hot sands. Oh! how
those sparkling silvery waters allured them on!

But soon the cooling lake turned into sand! And the whole regiment lay
down on the burning sands, and when found by Arabs, sent to search for
them, they were all dead.

Now, dear little friends, there are some so-called pleasures in life
which allure us like the mirage--but let us not be deceived. Let us
choose the better part, which can never be taken from us. J.


AGNES HEDENSTROM.

THIS is something as Miss Agnes Hedenstrom looked when she was eight
years old, and living among her wealthy relatives in Upsala. She was an
orphan, petted by everybody and allowed to have her own way.

Thus she grew up, apparently a spoiled child.

She was not happy, however, though indulged with whatever she wished.
She felt the need of something else.

[Illustration: WHEN SHE WAS EIGHT YEARS OLD.]

One day she heard a Swedish minister preach, and soon after Agnes gave
her heart to Jesus. Strangely enough, she began herself to preach to
her people, now in schoolhouses, now in great halls.

Often she would address on the streets of London great crowds of the
worst sort of people.

For years she thus toiled on among the wretched and wicked and
dangerous people who infested East London.

Once she was speaking alone in an awful place to twenty drunken
sailors while they yelled and blasphemed. Still she continued as best
she could to tell them the wondrous story of redeeming love. Think of
the "spoiled Agnes" coming to be such a brave, true woman! She still
shudders to remember those awful moments when she did not know but
those wretches would tear her to pieces. They did not. They became
quiet and subdued. The next evening they came, bringing some of their
comrades with them.

Then came a lecture room by her efforts; then a larger one. A few years
ago Miss Agnes went among the good people of London and told them about
the wretched people among whom she was laboring, especially the wicked
sailors.

They gave her money to build a Home for sailors, when they come on
shore without friends and an army of saloons to tempt them to drink and
waste all their earnings in "riotous living."

Well, after waiting some months for the builders to finish the work,
she clapped her hands--not on her guitar as when she was a child--but
_together_ as she walked through this Home.

She is sole manager of the sailors' boarding-house. There she sees that
the beds are clean and the meals good. She has books and papers, and
best of all, her dear Master Jesus in this Home.

More than a thousand sailors are thought to have been saved from their
awfully wicked ways through this wonderful Agnes Hedenstrom.

Some one has said that God can thresh a mountain with a worm. Would not
you like to be the worm in his hand?

                                            C. M. L.

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

An English acre consists of 6,272,640 square inches; and an inch deep
of rain on an acre yields 6,272,640 cubic inches of water, which at
277,274 cubic inches to the gallon makes 22,622.5 gallons; and as a
gallon of distilled water weighs 10 lbs., the rainfall on an acre is
226,225 lbs. avoirdupois; counting 2,240 lbs, as a ton, an inch deep
of rain weighs 100.993 tons, or nearly 101 tons per acre. For every
hundredth of an inch a ton of water falls per acre.




OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.

O.--OBOOKIAH, HENRY.


A FEW years ago I copied from a marble slab, imbedded in the earth upon
a grave in a quiet country cemetery at Cornwall, Ct., the following
inscription:

      HENRY OBOOKIAH OF OWHYEE,
    DIED FEBRUARY 17, 1818, AGED 26.

His arrival in this country gave rise to the Foreign Mission School
of which he was a worthy member. He was once an idolator and designed
for a Pagan priest; but by the grace of God, and by the prayers and
instructions of pious friends, he became a Christian. He was eminent
for piety and missionary zeal; was almost prepared to return to his
native island to preach the Gospel when God called him. In his last
moments he wept and prayed for his "Ow-hy-hee," but was submissive to
the will of God and died without fear, with a heavenly smile on his
face and glory in his soul.

This remarkable young man was early made an orphan by the cruel
massacre of both father and mother during a fearful struggle of two
parties for the control of his native island, Hawaii. His younger
brother was also slain while the boy of our sketch was endeavoring
to save him by carrying him upon his back in his flight. Obookiah
was taken prisoner and made a member of the family of the man who
had murdered his parents. After a year or two he was discovered by
an uncle, and his release from the hands of his enemy secured. His
uncle was a priest and he entered upon the work of preparing his young
nephew for the same service. This preparation was very different from
the preparation of young men in Christian lands for the work of the
Gospel ministry. One part of his duty was to learn and to repeat long
prayers; sometimes he was forced to spend the greater part of the night
in repeating these prayers in the temple before the idols. But Henry
was not happy; he had seen his parents and little brother cruelly
murdered, and thoughts of the terrible scene and of his own lonely
and orphaned condition preyed upon his mind continually. But he had
passed through still another sad experience. Before peace was restored
in the island he was again taken prisoner together with his father's
sister. He succeeded in making his escape the very day which had been
appointed for his death. His aunt was killed by the enemy, and this
made him feel more sad and lonely than before, and he resolved to leave
the island, hoping that if he should succeed in getting away from the
place where everything reminded him of his loss he might find peace if
not happiness; and this is how he was to be brought under Christian
influences in Christian America. He sailed with Captain Britnall and
landed in New York in the year 1809. He remained for some time in the
family of his friend the captain, at New Haven. And here he became
acquainted with several of the students in Yale College, who were at
once interested in this young foreigner, and from one of these friends
he learned to read and write.

His appearance was not prepossessing or promising. His clothes were
those of a rough sailor and his countenance dull and expressionless.
But he soon showed that he was neither dull nor lacking in mental power.

For some time, while Obookiah improved in the knowledge of English,
making good progress in his studies, he was unwilling to hear any talk
about the true God. He was amiable and quite willing to be taught, and
drank in eagerly the instruction given on other subjects, but after
some months he began to pray to the true God. He had a friend, also a
Hawaiian and his first prayer in the presence of another was made in
company with his friend. A copy of this prayer has been preserved and I
copy it for you to show how even in the beginning of his own interest
in Gospel truth, his thoughts turned towards his native country.

"Great and eternal God--make heaven--make earth--make everything--have
mercy on me--make me understand the Bible--make me good--great God,
have mercy on Thomas--make him good--make Thomas and me go back to
Hawaii--tell folks in Hawaii no more pray to stone god--make some good
man go with me to Hawaii, tell folks in Hawaii about heaven"--

From this time until he died his one longing was to go back to his
early home and tell the people about God. He used to talk with his
friend Thomas about it and plan the work. In his diary he wrote at one
time:

"We conversed about what we would do first at our return, how we should
begin to teach our poor brethren about the religion of Jesus Christ.
We thought we must first go to the king or else we must keep a school
and educate the children and get them to have some knowledge of the
Scriptures and give them some idea of God. The most thought that come
into my mind was to leave all in the hand of Almighty God; as he seeth
fit. The means may be easily done by us, but to make others believe, no
one could do it but God only."

In April, 1817, a Foreign Mission School was opened at Cornwall.
And Obookiah became a pupil in this school, intending to finish his
preparation for work among his own people as soon as practicable. A
description of this Sandwich Islander as given of him at that time
may be of interest: "He was a little less than six feet in height,
well-proportioned, erect, graceful and dignified. His countenance had
lost every trace of dullness, and was in an unusual degree sprightly
and intelligent. His features were strongly marked, expressive of a
sound and penetrating mind; he had a piercing eye, a prominent Roman
nose, and a chin considerably projected. His complexion was olive,
differing equally from the blackness of the African and the redness of
the Indian. His black hair was dressed after the manner of Americans."

As a scholar he was persevering and thorough. After he had gained some
knowledge of English, he conceived the idea of reducing his native
language to writing. As it was merely a spoken language, everything was
to be done. He had succeeded in translating the Book of Genesis and
made some progress in the work of making a grammar and dictionary. But
the work he had planned was not to be finished by his own hand. Within
a year from the time he entered the school at Cornwall he was called
home. As recorded upon the marble slab, his last thoughts were for his
native island; his last earthly longing was, that the Gospel might be
preached to his own countrymen. One of our popular cyclopædias gives a
brief mention of this remarkable young man and makes this statement:
"He was the cause of the establishment of American Missions in the
Sandwich Islands."

To have so lived, and by his earnestness and zeal so inspired others
that upon his death they were ready to take up and carry forward the
work he had planned, was to have accomplished even more than he could
had he been permitted to enter upon the work for which he was preparing.

                                            FAYE HUNTINGTON.


DISASTER.

    A HOLE in the pocket's a very bad thing,
      And brings a boy trouble faster
    Than anything under the sun, I think.
      My mother, she calls it disaster.
            For all in one day,
            I lost, I may say,
    Through a hole not as big as a dollar,
            A number of things,
            Including some rings
    From a chain Fido wore as a collar,

    My knife, a steel pen, a nice little note
      That my dear cousin Annie had sent me.
    The boy who found that, pinned it on to his hat,
      And tries all the time to torment me.
          I'd lost a new dime
          That very same time,
    But it lodged in the heel of my stocking;
          And one thing beside,
          Which to you I confide,
    Though I fear you may think it quite shocking:

    The doctor had made some nice little pills
      For me to take home to the baby;
    But, when I reached there, I was quite in despair,
      They had slipped through my pocket, it may be.
            Aunt Sallie, she,
            As cool as can be,
    Said, a hole in a boy's reputation,
            Is harder to cure,
            And worse to endure,
    Than all pockets unsound in the nation.

    Still a hole in the pocket's a very bad thing,
      And I am sure a real cause of disaster.
    But baby is well; so you must never tell;
      Perhaps he got well all the faster.
          --GWINNET HOWARD, _in Independent_.

[Illustration: ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP]


AND now we must begin to confess, very reluctantly it is true, that
the long evenings we have had the past few months around the Family
Lamp are slowly growing shorter and shorter. Before we can have time
to realize it very deeply somebody will say, "Oh! don't light the lamp
just yet, it is so much pleasanter to sit in the twilight," and then it
won't seem but about ten minutes, and the children and young folks will
be whisked off to bed, and the games will be crowded entirely off the
programme, and the Family will feel as if it had no good-night frolic
at all. So we must get all the fun we can, and to-night we propose as a
grand bit of sport--


A BUBBLE PARTY.

Choose all your players if you can beforehand, so as to have each one
select his and her color. As far as possible, wear as much of that
color, _putting away all other colors_, on dress, in button-hole of
coat, or scarf around in Highland fashion on the boys' coats, and be
sure to tie a bright bow of ribbon of same color on stem of pipe. A
player can decorate himself or herself in any way he or she chooses.
Variety makes the game all the more brilliant. A cap trimmed with one's
color is always pretty for the girls, and toques or soldier caps for
the boys.

Dissolve a quarter of an ounce of Castile or oil soap cut up in small
pieces, in three quarters of a pint of water, and boil for two or three
minutes; then add five ounces of glycerine. When cold, this fluid will
produce the best and most lasting bubbles that can be blown.

Now make your soap-bubbles in a big bowl, and choose your sides, an
equal number on each, and range them opposite each other, and begin.
The side that can make and keep unbroken the largest number of bubbles,
is the winner. To keep tally, one of the party must be chosen as judge.
You will have plenty of sport. I wish some of you would write me all
about your fun.

                                        MARGARET SIDNEY.


THE CHURCH ROBINS.

ONE pleasant April Sabbath, the parish clerk of a church in Wiltshire,
England, stood at his reading-desk turning to the morning "lesson" in
the great Prayer-Book. The congregation waited to give the responses,
but he did not begin as soon as usual. Something curious had caught his
eye, partly hidden under the Bible-rack, a small, slanting ledge or
platform, slightly raised above the main desk. He looked more closely,
and there, directly beneath the great Bible, he saw a robin-redbreast's
nest, with two pretty blue eggs in it. Mrs. Redbreast and her mate
had found a hole left by a small missing pane in one of the quaint
old leaden windows, and entered the sacred house to make their little
home where the sparrow and the swallow did that the sons of Korah sing
of in the eighty-fourth Psalm. The clerk could not resent so pretty
an intrusion, and did not disturb the nest; and when one of the birds
flew in before the close of service, neither he nor any one of the
congregation thought of doing anything to frighten it. And there the
nest remained through the rest of April and nearly the whole of May,
the redbreasts becoming so tame that the gathering of the worshippers
and the voices and music of the service on Sundays or other days did
not alarm them away. The sitting bird would stay, quietly brooding her
eggs, while the clerk was reading, almost directly over her head. After
the young were hatched, the male robin would fly in with worms in his
bill to feed them, and his coming never disturbed the people's litany
or the rector's sermon. This pleasant sanctuary partnership lasted till
the full-fledged young were able to leave the church and trust to their
own wings. Everybody felt that the birds had brought a blessing with
them, and were sorry when they went away.--_Selected._

[Illustration: WHEN THE SPRING WAS YOUNG.]

    Merry Jack Frost and his fairy elves
      Came by for a raid one night
    When the spring was young, and a rosebud fair,
    In a sheltered nook, which the perfumed air
      And the sunbeams, warm and bright,
    Had wooed for a month, 'till its dainty brow
      Was bright as the flush of dawn,
    Shone fair 'neath the moon; "'Tis a goodly sight!
    I'll cover it o'er with a veil of white,"
    Quoth Jack; "ha! ha! and the morning light
      Will shine on its glory, gone!"
    He gathered his elves for the mischievous prank,
      When lo! with a mournful sigh,
    The south wind called to a pitying cloud,
    "O look! they're weaving the rosebud's shroud."
      She paused in the midnight sky,
    And glanced at the rose. "Is her doom so near?
      Poor bud!" and his tears fell fast.
    Oh! the elves were caught in a mournful plight,
    And the south wind laughed, and the frost-king's flight
    Was a sight to see through the dusk of night,
    For the cloud's soft tears overwhelmed him quite
    As they fell on his vestments fine and white;
    And the lovely Dawn, with her shafts of light,
      Looked down on _his glory, past_!

                                   MAY M. ANDERSON.

[Illustration: The P.S. CORNER]


MY Blossoms all, I wish you a sunshiny April. I know she is apt to shed
many tears, but for that very reason we must try to keep our faces
unusually bright, for contrast.

I have given you this month several letters from our Blossoms. This, in
the future, will be a special feature for our P. S. Corner. I have been
selfish in keeping all the sweet bright little letters to myself. There
is room for only a very few out of the hundreds which come each month,
but you may take them as specimens of the rest. I wish we had room to
print them all, for your enjoyment. Meantime, send them on for me to
read, that I may keep posted as to what you are doing, and discover in
what ways I can best help you.

                                        Lovingly,        PANSY.

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

_Mary Louise_ from Florida. How glad it makes me to hear that the
Whisper Motto helps you! It is sure to help every one who is faithful
to it. That is a sweet thought of yours, to lend your PANSIES to
others. I wonder how many of our Blossoms think to do a little good
in that way? It would be so easy, and might help somebody very much.
Do you like the "land of flowers?" I spent a month there last winter,
and had a very happy time. I go to de Funiak Springs, where the
Sabbath-school Assembly holds its meetings. Perhaps you will go, and I
shall meet you there. Would not that be pleasant? If you do, you must
surely come to me and say: "I am Mary Louise," then I shall know you at
once.

_Lizzie_ from Connecticut. My dear, I pray for every name enrolled
on our P. S. book. That God will make each Blossom fragrant for him,
and take it some day to his heavenly garden, is my constant hope and
prayer. Perhaps you need to use the prayer which I find very necessary
for me every day: "Set a watch, O Lord, before my tongue. Keep the door
of my lips."

_Emma_ from Massachusetts. My dear, THE PANSY is just twelve years old.
Doesn't it travel over a large part of the world for one so young?

_Lena_ from Massachusetts. We should be glad to hear about the
entertainment. I hope you had a good time. Suppose you see how good a
description you can write of it, and of your Sabbath-school?

_Annie_ from Georgia. But I do not know that you are in Georgia now, my
Blossom. Perhaps you have already moved to that "New home." If so, you
will be able to write and tell me how you like it. I was glad to get
your full name for enrollment.

_Emma_ from Illinois. What success do you have with "impatience?" He
is a very trying enemy; you certainly do well to rid yourself of him.
But did you find it easy work? A little friend of mine said she could
be just as patient as anybody when things went as she wanted them to;
it was when nothing behaved right that she got impatient. I have known
older people than she who might have said the same.

_Alice_ from Vermont. My dear Blossom, I hope the badge reached you in
safety and is helping you about taking care of those "things." Such
little habits are great trials to "mamma," and I am sure our little
Alice wants to be all the comfort she can to mother, especially now
that God has taken the dear father and the sister home. I know how
lonely you must be without them; but I hope you are trying every day to
live so that when He calls you, it will be a joy for you to go and join
your dear ones in their bright home.

_Andrew_ from Dakota. Here comes another "impatient" boy! So they
cannot be patient out in Dakota any better than they can farther East?
Well, Satan seems to be busy bothering people all the world over. The
Whisper Motto is just these three words: "For Jesus' Sake." We call it
the Whisper Motto, not because we want to hide it, but because we want
to have it about with us all the time, speaking softly to our hearts
when others cannot hear, perhaps when others are in the midst of talk
which makes us feel cross, and we want to remember to give a "soft"
answer because that is the only one which will please Jesus. There is
no "charge" for membership in the P. S. There is a pledge to try to
overcome some bad habit, and to adopt the Whisper Motto as one's own.
We welcome you to our ranks, and have enrolled your name.

_Helen_ from New Jersey. Oh, yes; we will try as hard as we can to help
you. Whenever you see the meek little blossom on your badge, I hope
it will put this verse into your mind: "For even Christ pleased not
himself." If you think of this and try every time to do the thing you
did not want to, so your life will be pleasing to Jesus, by and by it
will grow so pleasant to you to think of what others want, that you
will forget it was ever a trouble. I am glad you are going to try it.

_Lanetta_ from New Hampshire. Not at all too late for good wishes, my
friend; nine months of the year left to improve. Shall you and I try
hard to make it the happiest year of our lives? What a quiet, pleasant
Christmas you told me of! It rests me to think of your happy home.

_Mildred_ from New York. Yes, I know, the little baby brother needs a
great deal of patience. Sometimes it helps us to sit down in a corner
by ourselves, and try to imagine how desolate the house would be
without him. I know of a woman who sometimes sheds bitter tears, even
now, because the last words she spoke to her little baby brother more
than fifty years ago, were cross ones! Glad to receive your pledge.

Here is a lovely bouquet of Blossoms from Massachusetts: _Cora_, _Ida_,
_Bessie_, _Lizzie_, _Louise_, _Margaret_. Just a sweet half-dozen. I
hardly know a bouquet of which I think with so much pleasure as this
one. Something whispers to me that some of them are trying hard to help
the others. Perhaps all are trying. Like the rest of us, these Blossoms
have work to do; weeds will grow in flower gardens, if not carefully
watched. Here is the weed of "Carelessness" popping up its naughty head
to trouble Louise; it is so much easier to leave the books or the
playthings just where they happen to drop; at least it seems easier at
the time. Try the other way, Louise, and see how much comfort you will
get from it.

Margaret's sweet little tongue wants to speak, sometimes, when it would
better keep silence; so many tongues attempt that! Margaret is going to
teach hers that while "Speech is silver, silence is golden."

Cora's tongue, too, is sometimes tempted to speak naughty words; watch
it, my child. Do you know the verse--

    This one little tongue that God has given
      Must always speak for him.

If we make our words always such as He will love to hear, we shall be
safe.

Ida's tongue is tempted to whisper when it should be silent. Isn't it
astonishing how many wrong things there are for tongues to do, and how
sure they are to go wrong if they can! Ida, as well as the rest of us,
needs this prayer: "Keep the door of my lips, that I sin not with my
tongue."

Bessie is evidently tempted to move slowly, either with hands or feet,
or both, when she should make all speed. I am glad indeed to hear that
you are going to try to teach these members better.

And here is little Lizzie, the last of the group, who has a hard task
indeed before her; she is going to try not to "do anything wrong." That
sounds like a very large pledge; but after all, if we are soldiers of
Jesus, it is no more than he asks: "Whether therefore ye eat or drink,
or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God."

Dear Blossoms, I hope I shall hear often from you, that you are
growing, and blooming, and spreading your fragrance for Jesus' sake.

_George_ from Illinois. Welcome, my boy, to our roll. I am an excellent
hand to read writing; just try me and see if I don't make yours out,
without any trouble. Meantime, we, you and I, are very grateful to
mamma for writing for you, and for all the kind words she speaks.

_Anne_ from Washington. Your threefold pledge is very important;
especially that one about "reading the Bible every day." If all the
young people of this generation, or even if all those who belong to
the P. S., would make and keep that resolution through life, I am
certain we should have a different world to live in, by the time they
were old enough to help manage it. Dear me! What am I talking about?
Not one of you but is old enough this minute to help manage the world,
your little piece of it, and I haven't the least doubt but that you are
doing it; the question is, How?

_Ollie_ from Texas. Your first letter! Good! How glad I am you
wrote the first one to me. But really I don't understand about the
"squirrel." Didn't you find him on some other page? Think it up, my
boy, and let us know. Meantime, I have enjoyed your letter.

_Walter_ from Dakota. I acknowledge that it is very sad to think of one
of my Blossoms as being "mad." But since it is only when you "get out
of patience," and you have taken a pledge to keep yourself supplied
with that article, we shall hope to hear better things of you very
soon. We gladly welcome you.

_Netta_ from Missouri. What a busy little woman you must be in school!
Your studies are all important, and I hope I may think of you as one of
the most faithful scholars in the room. Can I?

_George_ from Illinois. I am sorry, my dear friend, that I have not a
photograph for you. I have often thought what a pleasant thing it would
be if I could afford to send a photograph of myself as a birthday gift
to each of my Pansies! But alas, alas! my pocket book will not let me.
No! I remember you did not ask me to give it; you were very polite. I
will answer your question, however, as to where you can find it. L. E.
Walker of Warsaw, New York, is authorized to furnish a good picture
of me, and will reply promptly to your question as to price. I have
forgotten what they cost; they are cabinet size. D. Lothrop & Co.,
Publishers of THE PANSY, have also an engraving of me, which they will
furnish for twenty-five cents on application.

_Frank_ from Massachusetts. Dear little Blossom, I am glad to put your
name on my roll. It isn't an easy matter to mind "just as quick!" It
takes a boy with a good deal of strength of purpose to accomplish it.
I am so glad you have decided to learn the lesson early. Did you ever
hear of the great general who said no man was fit to command until he
had learned to obey? It is true.

_Paul_ from Maine. My boy, I like your rules very much; and your
letter. I have just been writing to a dear little fellow who has the
same fault to overcome; he will be glad to see you have joined his
company. Are you acquainted with a namesake of yours, the grand old
"Paul" of the Bible? He is a favorite character of mine. If you have
not carefully studied his life, suppose you do it, and write out what
you think of him, for me. Will you?

_Marguerite_ from New York. Yes indeed, my little Daisy, you may join
our society. We are glad for all the flowers we can get, and we hope
they will bloom summer and winter, and be so sweet that all who come
near them will feel their influence. I am glad you like "Reaching Out."
It is to be continued through the year.

_Harold_ from Boston. I hope the badge reached you safely. At first I
was in great doubt, having received a nice letter from you, with no
address, so the badge could be sent; but as soon as the second letter
came, I attended to it. To "mind mother" is one of the very important
duties in life. So important that God made a special command about it.
I think you write an excellent letter for a boy of your age.

_Lucy_ from Michigan. Thank you, my dear, for your interesting letter.
I think your Band must be a very helpful one. One needs to do something
of that sort, in order to realize how rapidly the pennies count up.

_Jessie_ from Nebraska. So you are just a little inclined to "fret."
Well, that is a very easy thing to do, and rather a hard thing to stop
doing. I hope the badge will do its share in the work. I suspect the
motto, however, will be more helpful than anything else. I enjoyed your
letter very much.

_Maud_ from Montana. Oh, yes, my dear, far-away Pansy, there are other
Blossoms just as far; but if somebody should ask us what we were
talking about--how far from where?--what should we tell them? This
is such a big world, and the people who live in California think the
people who live in Maine are very far away from them, but when I get a
letter from a little missionary girl in China, she says, "I wish you
did not live so far away from _us_!" so how shall we count? The truth
is, we are all away from home, on a journey; by and by, if we keep the
right road, we shall all get home to our Father's house; then no one
will be far away.

_Horace_ from New Jersey. My boy, I know all about that habit of yours,
what a temptation it is. I am rejoiced to think you are going to
conquer it while you are young. One day I went to call on two ladies,
sisters, who were both over fifty years old, and don't you think the
younger one contradicted the elder in almost every statement she made!
If we could have gotten hold of her when she was a little girl, and
coaxed her to take a pledge to overcome the habit, she would not be
such an ill-bred woman now.

_Cora_ from New Hampshire. We welcome you and "sister Mabel" with great
pleasure. There are a great many "hasty tempers" among our Blossoms.
The world will certainly be the sweeter because of all the flowers that
have decided to speak gentle words instead of hasty ones.

_Rose_ from Pennsylvania. Did the badge help? I wonder what sort of
things you "forgot" so much? Poor gold thimble! I wonder where it is
hiding? I heard of a boy who forget to mail a letter for his father,
and so was the means of his losing ten thousand dollars!

_Rodney_ from Philadelphia. Another "quick" temper! All right, my boy;
we have many to keep you company. We welcome "sister Clara" also. An
"answer back" is almost certain not to be a "soft" answer; did you ever
notice it?

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

MY DEAR PANSY:

Do you know I have read you for over three years, and I think you
are _just splendid_! I want a badge to help me overcome the fault of
fretting. When things don't go to suit me I am apt to fret. Near this
town where I live there are prairie dog-towns, where prairie dogs,
owls, and rattlesnakes all live together in one hole! I should think
they would fight and kill each other, and I expect they do. I learned
that piece from THE PANSY, "The Little Quaker Sinner." I think it is
real pretty. I like the story about the Deckers best of anything in
THE PANSY, but I like everything in it. I take the magazine to our
school, and the teacher reads the story about Nettie and Jerry, aloud;
the scholars all like it so much they can hardly wait until the next
chapter comes. I have a brother named Paul. I would like to correspond
with some Pansy Blossom; a little girl of about my own age.

                                        Good-by,
                                           Jessie Moxon.

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

DEAR PANSY:

I want to tell you about our Pansy Band. It meets the first Saturday
in every month; there are thirty-two members, boys and girls. We learn
the missionary catechism, and each one repeats a verse from the Bible.
Sometimes three or four are selected to write little papers on the
subject for the month. We pay a penny apiece each Saturday; if any
of us are absent, the next Saturday we bring two pennies; and then
besides, we give our offering. Alice and I are trying to do right.

                                        Your loving friend,
                                                      Lucy Taylor.

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

DEAR PANSY:

I have a good many faults, but I want to overcome them. I think the
worst one is not to mind promptly. I mean to take for my motto: "Do
your duty promptly." I hope God will help me to keep it. Mamma found
some rules in a paper, which she said if I would learn and obey, would
please her very much. I am going to. I am nine years old; I love THE
PANSY very much. I want to be a Blossom in your garden. Please send me
a badge.

                                              Your loving friend,
                                                    PAUL THOMPSON.


PAUL'S RULES FOR BEING A TRUE GENTLEMAN.

1. Not to tease smaller boys or girls.

2. Be polite and respectful to my mother, and to all people older than
I.

3. Be kind and helpful to my sisters.

4. Choose my friends among good boys.

5. Be gentlemanly at home.

6. Take my mother into my confidence if I do wrong.

7. Never tell a lie.

8. Never smoke, chew tobacco, or drink liquor; or use profane or slang
words.


HOW SUCCESS IS WON.

IS there a Blossom among you who does not want to win success? I am
sure I hope not. There is an old saying, into which is packed a deal
of common sense. This is, "What has been done, can be done." Since
there is truth in it, would it not be well for all who want to succeed,
to study those who have succeeded? To this end, I want to introduce
the Pansies to a book bearing the title which is at the head of this
article. It is written by Mrs. Sarah K. Bolton of Cleveland, which name
you will know, when you grow older, if you do not now, ensures it as
delightfully written and worthy of all trust. A copy of the book lies
on my desk at this moment. There is a sense in which it is not of much
consequence how a book is dressed, and yet I do like to see one in a
pretty dress, don't you?

This one is robed in a lovely gray tint, very like the color which used
to be called "ashes of roses;" ask your mamma if she remembers that. It
has an exquisite design in gold, representing the ocean, a ship riding
its waves, a lighthouse streaming out its warning of rocks ahead, and a
hint of harbor in the distance.

As to size, there are two hundred and forty-five pages clear type, with
very good pictures of twelve grand men who were eminently successful
in their various fields, and a brief sketch of each, given in Mrs.
Bolton's inimitable style.

One of the faces is like the one I give you in this article--John H.
Vincent. I would be glad to have all the Pansies acquainted with the
man. Many hundreds of you have seen him at Chautauqua; I hope many
thousands more of you will go there, and see and hear him. I believe he
has more sympathy with, and heart for, and knowledge of young people,
than any other great man whose name I know. These things being true, of
course he can help young people, if they will let themselves be helped
by him.

Who else is in the book? Oh, Whittier, the grand old poet, and Gough,
the temperance orator, and Wanamaker, the Christian merchant and
philanthropist, and Edison the great inventor, and Morton, whom so many
of the sick and suffering have reason to bless, and half a dozen more
whom you may not know quite so well by name, but will enjoy meeting.

I am anxious that the Pansies in their youth gather books about them
which will not have to be cast aside as outgrown in a few months, but
can be given honorable places on their library shelves when they are
men and women.

[Illustration: DR. J. H. VINCENT.]

This is why I am watching the books, and giving you their names, and a
hint of their contents, and getting special rates for you. Now I have
reached the remaining question of importance, viz., price. Regular
price, one dollar; to members of the P. S., whose names are regularly
enrolled on our list, sixty cents. Send to D. Lothrop & Co., Boston, if
you are entitled to the book at that price.

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

JAMES VICK, seedsman and florist (Rochester, N. Y.), sends out a
"Portfolio of Rare and Beautiful Flowers." The choice of the subjects
comprising the six large plates, painted from nature, is a most happy
one; and the accompanying descriptions and history of these exquisite
forms, in verse and prose, reflect great credit upon the editorial
work. We predict for it a generous reception.




THE PANSY SOCIETY

P.S.


    THE motto of the Society is "Pansies for Thoughts."
    What kind of thoughts? Oh, sweet, good, pure,
    unselfish, hopeful thoughts, such as Pansies, beautiful
    Pansies ought to inspire.

    Now "who may join?"

    Every boy and girl who takes the PANSY, and is willing
    to promise to try to overcome his or her faults, to
    encourage every good impulse, to try to conquer some
    hard lesson at school, to do anything that shows a
    disposition to help the cause of right in the world.
    Any one who will say from the heart: "I promise to
    try each day to do some kind act, or to say some kind
    word that shall help somebody;" honest effort will be
    accepted as much as if success were gained.

    This promise must be dated, and will be copied into the
    "P. S." roll-book.

    The most important of all to remember is our whisper
    motto: "I will do it for Jesus' sake."


"FOR JESUS' SAKE."

    Whatever He will own, the "P. S." will be proud and
    glad to copy on its roll-book.

    Then you must write a letter to Pansy (Mrs. G. R.
    Alden, Carbondale, Pa.), saying that you thus pledge
    yourself, and you will become a member of the Pansy
    Society, and receive a badge.

    Now, about the badges.

    The officer's is of satin, trimmed with gilt fringe,
    and has a gilt pin to fasten the badge to the dress or
    coat. In the centre is a pansy in colors--above it the
    words, _Pansy Society,_ and beneath it, _Pansies for
    Thoughts_.

    The badge for members will be the same as the
    officer's, with the exception of having no fringe and a
    silver pin.

    And the PANSY will help. As it has always been glad to
    encourage those who are struggling up toward the light,
    so now it reaches forth its helping hand to those
    little ones who will rally bravely around it, to the
    work of putting down the evil, and the support of all
    things good and beautiful.

    So many of you have little brothers and sisters who
    want to join the P. S., and who of course do not need
    an extra copy of the paper, that we have concluded to
    receive all such, letting them pay ten cents each for
    their badges, if they wish them. Understand! If you are
    a subscriber to THE PANSY, and have a badge, and have
    a little sister who would like a badge, write at her
    dictation a little letter to Pansy, taking the pledge,
    telling of some habit which she means to try to break,
    and enclosing twelve cents in two-cent stamps, ten
    to pay for the badge, and two to pay the postage for
    sending it. Her name will be enrolled as if she were
    a subscriber. The same advice applies of course to
    little brothers. Send your letters to MRS. G. R. ALDEN,
    _Carbondale, Pa._

    It is also asked:--

    What makes an officer of the Pansy Society?

    You are to endeavor to organize a club of as many
    members as you can. Each one forming such a Club or
    Society will receive the Officer's badge, and become
    President of the same. The local Society may contain as
    many members as can be secured.

    Then, of course, you will plan for your Society; how
    often it shall be called together, and what your rules
    shall be; whether you will sing, or visit, or work, or
    have a literary society, or read a book. The only thing
    you call on the members to positively promise is that
    each will try to overcome some bad habit, and will take
    for the whisper motto the words--


"FOR JESUS' SAKE."

    Each member of the "P. S." is invited to write to
    the editor, Mrs. G. R. Alden (Pansy), Carbondale,
    Pa., how far the trial has proved a success, how many
    temptations have been resisted, how much progress in
    any direction has been made, etc., feeling sure of
    encouragement and loving help.

    THE PANSY has extra pages each month under the heading,
    "The Pansy Corner," in which Pansy holds monthly talks
    with her correspondents. There is ample space in the
    corner devoted to interesting items connected with the
    Pansy Society; also letters from its members.

    Mrs. Alden would also be pleased to know how the
    members are getting on--what they are reading,
    studying, talking about, etc., and whether the badges
    are helping them to keep their pledges.




The April issues of the popular

[Illustration: =WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS=]

will be the following:


APRIL 1. "THE PIPERS," by Jessie Curtis Shepherd. This charming picture
is the very spirit of springtime--springtime of the greening earth,
springtime of life, in the gay procession of children blowing on
dandelion pipes.

April 15. "ON EASTER DAY," by W. L. Taylor. This Easter picture is an
exquisite idyl of the maid and the lily.


_Already issued_:

    Oct. 1. LITTLE BROWN MAIDEN.            _Kate Greenaway._
    Oct. 15. ON NANTUCKET SHORE.            _F. Childe Hassam._
    Nov. 1. IN GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN.        _W. T. Smedley._
    Nov. 15. THE DREAM PEDLER.              _E. H. Garrett._
    Dec. 1. MORNING.                        _F. H. Lungren._
    Dec. 15. EVENING.                       _F. H. Lungren._
    Jan. 1. WILD DUCKS.                     _Charles Volkmar._
    Jan. 15. IN HOLLAND.                    _F. Childe Hassam._
    Feb. 1. THE THREE FISHERS.              _Thomas Hovenden._
    Feb. 15. UNDER THE ELECTRIC LIGHT.      _F. H. Lungren._
    Mar. 1. TWO CONNOISSEURS.               _T. W. Wood, N. A._
    Mar. 15. LOST.                          _W. L. Taylor._

The WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS are sent postpaid in pasteboard tubes for 50
cents each. Half yearly subscription, $5.50; yearly, $10.00.


THE PRESS SAYS

of the beauty and art-educational value of the ART PRINTS:

"_Will delight the artist, the art lover, and every friend of
art-education._"--Boston Beacon.

"_Fine examples._"--Art Union, N. Y.

"_Deserve to be most popular._"--Boston Sunday Times.

"_Will give unfailing and refined pleasure._"--Boston Transcript.

"_We can very cordially praise the new WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS. They
are wholly charming. We most unhesitatingly pronounce them admirable
specimens of reproductive art, giving the character of the original
work, and even the technical qualities of the artist's handling to a
very remarkable degree. We wish that such charming gems of art could be
in every home ... for they will be a source of very great pleasure ...
and have a very important educational value._"--Boston Post.


WONDER STORIES OF SCIENCE.

=Price, 1.50.=

To improve as well as to amuse young people is the object of these
twenty-one sketches, and they fill this purpose wonderfully well. What
boy can fail to be interested in reading an account of an excursion
made in a balloon and a race with a thunder-storm? And is there a girl
who would not enjoy an afternoon in the Christmas-card factory? It is
a curious fact that only one hundred and thirty years ago the first
umbrella was carried in London, much to the amusement of the ignorant,
and now there are seven millions made every year in this country. And
who would believe it possible that there was a large factory full of
women who earned their living by making dolls' shoes. A bright girl or
boy who insists to know something about the work done in the world,
who does it, and how it is done, cannot fail to enjoy these stories.
The writers are all well-known contributors to children's periodical
literature, and the book will be a welcome addition to any child's
library, and might be used with advantage as a reading book in schools.

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

=Books particularly adapted for=

=SUPPLEMENTARY READING FOR SCHOOLS=.

=History of the American People.= By Arthur Gilman. 12mo, very fully
illustrated. $1.50.

=Young Folks' Histories.= By Charlotte M. Yonge. Six volumes, cloth,
illustrated. $1.50 each.

=Popular Biographies,= descriptive of such eminent men as Longfellow,
Franklin and others. $1.50 each.

=Our Business Boys.= 60 cents.

=Health and Strength Papers for Girls.= 60 cts.

=In Case Of Accident.= The simplest methods of meeting the common
accidents and emergencies. Illust. 60 cts.

=Temperance Teachings of Science.= 60 cents.

=A Boy's Workshop.= By a Boy. $1.00.

=How Success is Won.= By Sarah K. Bolton. $1.00.

=Boys' Heroes.= By Edward Everett Hale. $1.00.

=Children of Westminster Abbey.= By Rose G. Kingsley. $1.00.

=Old Ocean.= By Ernest Ingersoll. $1.00.

=Dooryard Folks.= By Amanda B. Harris. $1.00.

=Great Composers.= By Hezekiah Butterworth. $1.

=Travelling Law School.= By Benjamin Vaughan Abbott. $1.00.

=Pleasant Authors.= By Amanda B. Harris. $1.00.

=Underfoot.= By Laura D. Nichols. Geology in story. $1.25; cloth, $1.50.

=Overhead.= By Annie Moore and Laura D. Nichols. "Astronomy under the
guise of a story." $1.25; cloth, $1.50.

_Special rates will be made for introduction of our publications into
schools. Correspondence solicited._

D. LOTHROP & CO., Franklin and Hawley Streets. Boston, Mass.




[Illustration: =WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS=]

ARTISTIC FAC-SIMILE REPRODUCTIONS OF ORIGINAL PICTURES.


Desiring to bring within reach of all homes Pictures of real charm and
real art value, we began, October 1st, the publication of a series
of superb fac-simile reproductions of the finest original pictures
belonging to the WIDE AWAKE magazine.

This collection of water colors, oil paintings, and line drawings,
gathered during the past ten years, includes fine examples of eminent
American and foreign artists: Walter Shirlaw, Mary Hallock Foote, Wm.
T. Smedley, Howard Pyle, Henry Bacon, Jessie Curtis Shepherd, Harry
Fenn, F. S. Church, Chas. S. Reinhart, Miss L. B. Humphrey, F. Childe
Hassam, E. H. Garrett, F. H. Lungren, H. Bolton Jones, St. John Harper,
Miss Kate Greenaway, George Foster Barnes, Hy. Sandham, and others.

And while the skill of foremost engravers has enabled us to give in the
magazine many beautiful engravings from these originals, the mechanical
limitations of the graver, and of the steam press, render these
"counterfeit presentments," at their best, but disappointing attempts,
to those who have seen the originals with their greater delicacy and
richness and strength. The real touch of the artist's brush, the finer
subtler atmosphere, the full beauty and significance, and the technical
excellence, is missing--and it is these features that are retained in
these fac-similes.

The method of reproduction employed is the new photogravure process of
the Lewis Co., which in result is only equalled by the famous work of
Goupil & Cie of Paris. Each impression is on the finest India paper,
imported expressly for this purpose, and backed by the best American
plate paper, size 12x15 inches. Only a limited number of hand proofs
will be made. Ordinary black inks are not employed, but special
pigments of various beautiful tones, the tone for each picture being
that best suited to emphasize its peculiar sentiment.

These beautiful fac-simile reproductions are equally adapted for
portfolios or for framing. They are issued under the name of


[Illustration: WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS]

Along with the unfailing and refined pleasure a portfolio of
these beautiful pictures will give, attention is called to their
educational value to young art students, and to all young people, as
the photogravure process preserves each artist's peculiar technique,
showing how the drawing is really made, something that engraving
largely obliterates.

_The WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS are issued on the first and fifteenth of
each month, and are regularly announced in the magazine._


=SPECIAL.=

Keeping in view the interests of our readers, we have decided not to
place the Art Prints in the hands of agents or the general trade. In
this way our patrons are saved the retailers' and jobbers' profits,
so that while these beautiful works of art, if placed in the picture
stores, would bear a retail price of $3.00 to $10.00, we are able to
furnish them to our readers and patrons at a

UNIFORM NET PRICE OF ONLY FIFTY CENTS EACH.

Orders for half-yearly sets of twelve will be received at $5.50 in
advance; and for yearly sets of twenty-four at $10.00 in advance. All
pictures are sent in pasteboard rolls, postpaid. Half-yearly and yearly
subscribers will receive each monthly pair in one roll. Portfolios,
suitable for holding twenty-four or less, will be supplied, postpaid,
for 75 cts.


=NOW READY:=

    Oct. 1. "=Little Brown Maiden.="      KATE GREENAWAY.

The sweetest and quaintest of Miss Greenaway's creations. The original
watercolor was purchased in her London studio by Mr. Lothrop, and is
perhaps the only original painting by Kate Greenaway in America.

    Oct. 15. "=On Nantucket Shore.="      F. CHILDE HASSAM.

A wood engraving from this sea-beach picture was the frontispiece to
the September Wide Awake. In a boy's room it would be a delightful
reminder of vacation days.

    Nov. 1. "=In Grandmothers Garden.="      WM. T. SMEDLEY.

This is a picture of the time when mother was a little girl, and walked
with grandmother in the dear old lady's garden.

    Nov. 15. "=The Dream Pedler.="     EDMUND H. GARRETT.

Every nursery should have this picture of the captivating Dream
Peddler, standing on the crescent moon and with his bell crying his
dreams for sale.

    Dec. 1. "=Morning.="     F. H. LUNGREN.

    Dec. 15. "=Evening.="      F. H. LUNGREN.

These are companion pictures--the beautiful ideal figures set, the one
in the clear azure of a breezy morning, the other in the moonlight
mystery of evening.

[Illustration] _Other Subjects in rapid Preparation. See current
numbers of WIDE AWAKE for particulars._[Illustration]

=Address all orders to D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Boston. Mass., U.
S. A.=


=A BEAUTIFUL PORTRAIT OF "PANSY."=

    Any subscriber to one of our magazines wishing to
    secure the beautiful Lithographic Portrait of Mrs. G.
    R. Alden (Pansy) may do so by sending us one _new_
    subscriber to THE PANSY with $1.00 for the same.

    We will send the portrait to any former subscriber who
    has not renewed his or her subscription to any of our
    magazines for the new year, on receipt of the full
    subscription price for the renewal and $1.00 for one
    _new_ subscription to THE PANSY.

    No premiums can be selected under these special offers.
    The picture is on heavy plate paper size 8 inches by 10
    inches, and very suitable for framing.

=D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boston.=


A SPECIAL PREMIUM OFFER FOR THE LITTLE FOLKS.

[Illustration: THE NAUGHTY RUNAWAY CAT]

=_King Grimalkum and Pussyanita; or, the Cats' Arabian Nights._=

BY MRS. A. M. DIAZ. Quarto, $1.25.

For the little folks who like to laugh, for the papas and mammas who
like to hear them and to laugh with them, this is the book to buy. As
in the world-famous Eastern tales which give the book its name, the
stories, with cats and kittens for heroes and heroines, instead of men
and women, lead one to another, and run on and on in a long series
of delights--simple and sweet, quaint, strange and pathetic, witty
and rollicking, or bubbling over with genial humor and the queerest
conceits.

[Illustration: THE NICE CAT THAT WAS GOOD TO BIRDS.

(_From "The Cats' Arabian Nights."_)]

The irresistible stories are accompanied by more beautiful and
laughable cat-pictures than were ever before gathered between two
covers, and the covers themselves are very quaint, in dainty colors and
in silver.

No fathers and mothers should themselves miss, or let their little
folks miss, the fun of this book. To give this pleasure to little folks
everywhere, the Publishers make

_A SPECIAL OFFER_:

    To every subscriber who will send us _new_
    subscriptions to any of our magazines amounting to
    $2.00, we will send "The Cats' Arabian Nights,"
    postpaid.

    Any one not a subscriber may obtain this delightful
    book by sending new subscriptions amounting to $3.00.

    This special offer will be good only to May 1st, 1886.

=D. Lothrop & Co., Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston.=

[Illustration: THE THREE KITTENS THAT LOST THEIR MITTENS.]




PROSPECTUS--=BABYLAND=--FOR 1886.


    The Magazine for the Babies, this coming year, in
    addition to its bright pictures, and gay little
    jingles, and sweet stories, will have some especial
    delights for both Mamma and Baby:


    =THE MAGIC PEAR=

    will provide Twelve Entertainments of dainty jugglery
    and funny sleight-of-hand for the nursery pencils.
    This novelty is by the artist-humorist, M. J. Sweeney
    ("Boz").


    =ALL AROUND THE CLOCK=

    will give Baby Twelve tiny Lessons in Counting, each
    with wee verses for little lips to say, and pictures
    for bright eyes to see, to help the little mind to
    remember.


    =LITTLE CRIB-CURTAINS=

    will give Mamma Twelve Sleepy-time Stories to tell when
    the Babies go to cribs and cradles. In short, BABYLAND
    the whole year will be the happiest, sweetest sort of a
    home kindergarten.

    _Beautiful and novel New Cover. Only Fifty Cents a
    year._


PROSPECTUS--=OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN=--FOR 1886.

    This magazine, for youngest readers, has earned golden
    gratitude from teachers and parents this past year.
    While its short stories and beautiful pictures have
    made it welcome everywhere as a general Magazine for
    Little Folks, its series of instructive articles have
    rendered it of unrivalled value to educators. For 1886
    several specialties have been prepared in accordance
    with the suggestions of teachers who wish to start
    their "little primaries" in the lines on which older
    brothers and sisters are being taught. As a beginning
    in American History, there will be twelve charming
    chapters about


    =THE ADVENTURES OF COLUMBUS.=

    This story of the Great Discoverer, while historically
    correct and valuable, will be perfectly adapted to
    young minds and fitted to take hold upon a child's
    attention and memory; many pictures.


    =LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE=

    will interest the children in one branch of Natural
    History; with anecdotes and pictures.


    =OUR COLORADO PETS=

    will describe wild creatures little known to children
    in general. These twelve stories all are true, and are
    full of life and adventure; each will be illustrated.


    ="ME AND MY DOLLS"=

    is a "cunning little serial story," written for
    American children by the popular English author, Miss
    L. T. Meade. It will have Twelve Full-page Pictures
    by Margaret Johnson. From time to time fresh "Stories
    about Favorite Authors" will be given, so that teachers
    and friends may have material for little literature
    lessons suited to young children.

    _Seventy-five Full-page Pictures. Only $1.00 a year._


PROSPECTUS--=THE PANSY=--FOR 1886.

    For both week-day and Sunday reading, THE PANSY, edited
    by "Pansy" herself, holds the first place in the hearts
    of the children, and in the approval of earnest-minded
    parents. Among the more interesting features for 1886
    will be Pansy's serial story,


=REACHING OUT=,

    being a further account of "Little Fishers: and their
    Nets." The Golden Text Stories, under the title,
    "Six O'clock in the Evening," will be told by a dear
    old Grandma, who knows many interesting things about
    what happened to herself when she was a little girl.
    Margaret Sidney will furnish a charming story,


=ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON=,

    to run through the year. Rev. C. M. Livingston will
    tell stories of discoveries, inventions, books, people,
    places. Faye Huntington will be a regular contributor
    during the year. Pansy will take the readers with her
    wherever she goes, in papers under the title of


=WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.=

    There will be, in each number, a selection from our
    best standard poets suitable for recitation in school
    or circle. From time to time colloquies for Mission
    Bands, or for general school exercises, will appear.
    There will be new and interesting books for the members
    of the Pansy Society, and, as before, a generous space
    will be devoted to answers to correspondents in the P.
    S. Corner.

_Fully Illustrated. Only $1.00 a year._


    Address all orders to

    D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boston,
                Mass.


[Illustration: PROSPECTUS WIDE AWAKE 1886]

A mother, whose five children have read WIDE AWAKE in her company from
its first number to its latest, writes: "_I like the magazine because
it is full of Impulses. Another thing--when I lay it down I feel as if
I had been walking on breezy hill-tops._"


_SIX ILLUSTRATED SERIALS:_

    =I. A MIDSHIPMAN AT LARGE.=
    =II. THE CRUISE OF THE CASABIANCA.=

Every boy who sailed in fancy the late exciting races of the _Puritan_
and the _Genesta_, and all lovers of sea stories, will enjoy these two
stories of Newport and Ocean Yachting, by CHARLES REMINGTON TALBOT.


=III. A GIRL AND A JEWEL.=

MRS. HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, in this delicious White Mountain
Romance, writes her first young folks' magazine serial.


    =IV. DILLY AND THE CAPTAIN.=
    =V. PEGGY, AND HER FAMILY.=

MARGARET SIDNEY writes these two amusing Adventure Serials for Little
Folks. Thirty-six illustrations each.


=VI. A Six Months' Story= (title to be announced), by CHARLES EGBERT
CRADDOCK, author of _Down the Ravine_.


=ROYAL GIRLS AND ROYAL COURTS.=

By MRS. JOHN SHERWOOD. This series, brilliant and instructive, will
begin in the Christmas number and run through the year.


=A CYCLE OF CHILDREN.=

By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS. Illustrations by Howard Pyle. Twelve historical
stories celebrating twelve popular holidays.

    =Master Sandys' Christmas Snapdragon.= Dec., 1611.
    =Mistress Margery's New Year's Pin-Money.= Jan., 1500.
    =Mr. Pepys' Valentine.= February, 1660.
    =The Last of the Geraldines.= March, 1535.
    =Diccon and the Wise Fools of Gotham.= April, 1215.
    =The Lady Octavia's Garland.= May, 184.
    =Etc., etc.=


_STORIES OF AMERICAN WARS._

Thrilling incidents in our various American warfares. Each story will
have a dramatic picture. The first six are:

    =The Light of Key Biscayne.=
    =Joel Jackson's Smack.=
    =A Revolutionary Turncoat.=
    =How Daniel Abbott Outwitted the Indians.=
    =In the Turtle Crawl.=
    =The Boy-Soldiers of Cherry Valley.=


_IN PERIL._

A romantic dozen of adventures, but all strictly true. Each story will
be illustrated. The first six are:

    =Saved by a Kite.=
    =Taz a Taz.=
    =In a Mica Mine.=
    =The Life Trail.=
    =The Varmint that Runs on the "Heigh-Ho!"=
    =A Strange Prison.=


=YOUTH IN TWELVE CENTURIES.=

A beautiful art feature. Twenty-four superb studies of race-types and
national costumes, by F. Childe Hassam, with text by M. E. B.


_FIRE-PLACE STORIES._

This article will be a notable feature of the Christmas number. The
rich illustrations include glimpses of Holland, Assyria, Persia,
Moorish Spain and New England, with two paintings in clay modelled
expressly for WIDE AWAKE, and reproduced in three tones.


_SOME SPECIAL ARTICLES:_

  _L'ENFANT TERRIBLE TURK._ By HON. S. S. COX, U. S. Minister to Turkey.
  _THE PRINCESS POCAHONTAS IN ENGLAND._ By MRS. RAYMOND BLATHWAYTE.
      Illustrations include portrait from painting never before
      engraved.
  _AUTOGRAPHS AND AUTOGRAPH HUNTERS._ By NORA PERRY. Racy and amusing.
  _A GRAND PEACE-MEET._ By WILL P. HOOPER. An imposing Indian Ceremony;
      with many pictures by the author.
  _A SIXTEENTH CENTURY SCHOOLBOY._ By APPLETON MORGAN. The life of a lad
      in Shakespeare's time.
  _MY FIRST BUFFALO HUNT._ By GEN. JOHN C. FREMONT.
  _THROUGH THE HEART OF PARIS._ By FRANK T. MERRILL. A pen and pencil
      record of a trip down the Seine.
  _THE DUMB-BETTY LAMP._ By HENRY BACON. Hitherto untold incidents in
      connection with "Floyd Ireson's Ride."


_TWELVE BALLADS._

These are by twelve of the foremost women poets of America. Each ballad
will fill five to seven pictorial pages. The first six are:

=The Deacon's Little Maid.= A ballad of early New England. By MRS. A.
D. T. WHITNEY. Illustrations by Miss L. B. Humphrey.

=The Story of the Chevalier.= A ballad of the wars of Maria Theresa. By
MRS. HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. Illustrations by E. H. Garrett.

=The Minute Man.= A ballad of the "Shot heard round the World." By
MARGARET SIDNEY. Illustrations by Hy. Sandham.

=The Hemlock Tree.= A ballad of a Maine settlement. By LUCY LARCOM.
Illustrations by Edmund H. Garrett.

=The Children's Cherry Feast.= A ballad of the Hussite War. By NORA
PERRY. Illustrations by George Foster Barnes.

=Little Alix.= A ballad of the Children's Crusade. By SUSAN COOLIDGE.
Illustrations by F. H. Lungren.

Many other enjoyments are in readiness; among them a Thanksgiving poem
by Helen Jackson (H. H.), the last poem we can ever give our readers
from her pen; "A Daughter of the Sea-Folks," a romantic story of
Ancient Holland, by Susan Coolidge; "An Entertainment of Mysteries,"
by Anna Katherine Greene, author of the celebrated "detective novels;"
foreign MSS. and drawings by Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Pennell; "Stoned by a
Mountain," by Rose G. Kingsley; a frontier-life story by Mrs. Custer,
author of _Boots and Saddles_; a long humorous poem by Christina
Rossetti; Arctic Articles by Lieut. Frederick Schwatka; "A Tiny Tale of
Travel," a prose story by Celia Thaxter; a "Trotty" story, by Elizabeth
Stuart Phelps; beautiful stories by Grace Denio Litchfield, Mary E.
Wilkins and Katherine B. Foote; a lively boys' story by John Preston
True; "Pamela's Fortune," by Mrs. Lucy C. Lillie; "'Little Captain' of
Buckskin Camp," by F. L. Stealey--in short, the magazine will brim over
with good things.


_THE C. Y. F. R. U. READINGS_

meet the growing demand for the _helpful_ in literature, history,
science, art and practical doing. The Course for 1885-86 includes

=I. Pleasant Authors for Young Folks.= (_American Series._) By AMANDA
B. HARRIS. =II. My Garden Pets.= By MARY TREAT, author of _Home Studies
in Nature_. =III. Souvenirs of My Time.= (_Foreign Series._) By MRS.
JESSIE BENTON FREMONT. =IV. Some Italian Authors and Their Work.= By
GEORGE E. VINCENT (son of Chancellor Vincent). =V. Ways to Do Things.=
By various authors. =VI. Strange Teas, Weddings, Dinners and Fetes.= By
their Guests and Givers. =VII. Search-Questions in English Literature.=
By OSCAR FAY ADAMS.

*** A good commission is paid for securing new subscribers, in cash or
premiums. Send for Premium List.


_WIDE AWAKE is only $3.00 a year._

=D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston, Mass.,
U. S. A.=


=How we are Governed.=

=By Anna Laurens Dawes.= 12mo, $1.50.

    The task undertaken in this work by the accomplished
    daughter of Senator Dawes, has been to present an
    explanation of the constitution and government of the
    United States, both national, State, and local, in
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=Lilith: the Legend of the First Woman.=

=By Ada Langworthy Collier.= 12mo, $1.00. GILT EDGES, $1.25.

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=Boy Life in the United States Navy.=

=By H. H. Clark.= 12mo, ILLUSTRATED, $1.50.

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=Memorial of Rev. Warren H. Cudworth.=

=By His Sister=; WITH PORTRAIT, 380 PAGES, $1.50.

    Simply told and remarkably interesting is this story of
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=Money in Politics.=

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TREASURY EXTRA CLOTH, TOP. 12mo, $1.25.

    This volume presents a complete history of money, or
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=Baccalaureate Sermons.=

=By Rev. A. P. Peabody, D. D. LL. D.= 12mo, $1.25.

    These sermons, delivered before the graduating classes
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=What's Mine's Mine.=

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    From original MSS. It will be published by D. Lothrop &
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=Boys' Heroes.=

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PRICE, $1.00.

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D. LOTHROP & COMPANY'S

CHOICE NEW BOOKS. 1885-86.

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    =Boys and Girls' Annual, 1885.= Contains original
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    =Chautauqua Young Folks' Annual, 1885.= This annual has
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    =Young Folks' Cyclopædia of Stories of Famous Authors.=
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    =Wide Awake Volume T.= Contains beside other notable
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    =The Golden West=, as seen by the Ridgway Club, by
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    =No Questions Asked.= In this volume we have a
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    =In No-Man's Land=, by Elbridge S. Brooks. With
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    =My Cat Pickwick.= By Mrs. F. A. Humphrey. The tale of
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    =Five Little Chickens=, and other quaint songs for
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    =Where was the Baby?= A question and how it was
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    =Queen Victoria at Home.= By Mrs. Frances A. Humphrey.
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    young folk's reading, with portraits of the English
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    =Seashore Chats and Beach Stories.= By Mrs. Fannie A.
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    =In the King's Garden, and Other Poems=, by James Berry
    Bensel, one of the most pleasing and creditable of
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=England: As Seen By An American Banker.=

16mo, ELEGANT CLOTH BINDING, $1.50.

    This book of fresh impressions might well be called
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=Echoes of Many Voices.=

=By E. A. Thurston.= SPARE MINUTE SERIES. 12mo, CLOTH, $1.00.

    A carefully arranged collection of wise, witty, and
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=From Canon Farrar.= SPARE MINUTE SERIES. 12mo, CLOTH, $1.00.

    These are vital thoughts that have been gathered by
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=Life of Ulysses Simpson Grant.=

=By E. E. Brown.= 12mo, CLOTH, ILLUSTRATED, $1.50.

    In this biography the author of the popular LIFE OF
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=Concord: Historic, Literary and Picturesque.=

=By G. B. Bartlett.= 12mo, CLOTH, ILLUSTRATED, $1.00; PAPER, 50 cents.

    This is the third edition of the Concord Guide Book
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=King's Handbook of Boston.=

=By Moses King.= 12mo, CLOTH, ILLUSTRATED, $1.00.

    This, the sixth edition, has undergone a careful
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=Words of Our Hero, U. S. Grant=

=By Jeremiah Chaplin.= 12mo, PAPER, WITH PORTRAIT, 35 cents.

    Here the hero tells in simple language his own
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=Woman in Sacred Song.=

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=Tent V, Chautauqua.=

=By Mariana M. Bisbee.= 12mo, CLOTH, ILLUSTRATED, $1.25.

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=Wood's Natural History.=

=By Rev. J. G. Wood, M. A.= VERY FULLY AND FINELY ILLUSTRATED by WOLF,
HARRISON WEIR AND OTHERS. 12mo, CLOTH, $1.25.

    A new edition of this ever-popular book, giving the
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=Success: or, Hints for Living.=

=By Rev. O. A. Kingsbury.= NEW EDITION, 12mo, $1.25.

    Practical, entertaining and instructive. Just the book
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=Health at Home Library.=

    Works on Mental and Physical Hygiene. By J. Mortimer
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  =I. The Secret of a Clear Head=; chapters on temperature, habits,
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=Roget's Thesaurus.=

    A Treasury of English Words and Phrases, classified and
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=By Peter Mark Roget, M. A., F. R. S.=

    New edition enlarged and improved, partly from the
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=When I was a Child.=

=By Ernest Warburton Shurtleff.=

    With Illustrations by F. CHILDE HASSAM. Unique binding,
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=Tomtits and Other Bits.=

=By Miss A. M. Starkweather.= EXTRA CLOTH BINDING, QUARTO, $1.00.

    This fresh and delightful book is made up of poems
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D. LOTHROP & CO.'S

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notice. Price, $1.50.

=TREASURE THOUGHTS FROM CANON FARRAR.= (Spare Minute Series.) Compiled
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=DIVINE SOVEREIGNTY.= By REUEN THOMAS, D. D. A volume of sermons by the
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=WHEN I WAS A CHILD.= By ERNEST W. SHURTLEFF. An exceedingly attractive
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=JANUARY.= Edited by OSCAR FAY ADAMS. This book is the second in
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=CLOVER LEAVES.= By ELLA M. BAKER. A complete collection of the poems,
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=SOCIAL STUDIES IN ENGLAND.= By MRS. SARAH K. BOLTON. The talented
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=IN TIME OF NEED.= Compiled by E. W. S. A fine poem by W. F. SHERWIN
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=LIFE OF GEN. GRANT.= By E. E. BROWN. A carefully written life of the
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=THE GOLDEN TREASURY.= This famous anthology, compiled by FRANCIS
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_PUBLISHED LATE IN DECEMBER._

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=TEMPERANCE TEACHINGS OF SCIENCE.= By A. B. PALMER, M. D., LL. D., Dean
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=CHILDREN OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY.= By ROSE G. KINGSLEY. In this book the
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=BOYS' HEROES.= By EDWARD EVERETT HALE. The characters of twelve famous
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volume is one that cannot be spared from a boy's library. Price, $1.00.




[Illustration: IVORY SOAP USED EFFECTIVELY IN HEALING GALLED SPOTS

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       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation errors repaired.

Page 191, "school" changed to "schools" (other schools of like
character)

Page 196, "te" changed to "to" (to tempt them)

Page 7, advertisements, changed "andthe" to "and the" (literature, and
the book)

Page 11, advertisements, "Pepy's" changed to "Pepys'" (Mr. Pepys'
Valentine)

Page 11, advertisements, "Tunrcoat" changed to "Turncoat" (A
Revolutionary Turncoat)

Page 11, advertisements, "By" changed to "by" (by Anna Katherine Greene)

Page 11, advertisements, "VI" changed to "IV." (IV. Some Italian
Authors)

Page 12, advertisements, "Boys Heroes," "$100" changed to "$1.00"
(PRICE, $1.00)

Page 13, advertisements, "are" changed to "care" (care of an aquarium)







End of Project Gutenberg's The Pansy Magazine, April 1886, by Various